


Perspective

by Ladylizaelliott



Series: In Her Shadow [2]
Category: The Woman in White - Webber/Zippel/Jones, The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 06:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13094109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladylizaelliott/pseuds/Ladylizaelliott
Summary: Book II of the In Her Shadow series





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story, believe it or not, is still in progress after easily 15 years and god knows when I'll ever actually finish it (sorry). I have decided to publish it for my own celebration of the current London revival which I am hoping to fly out and see despite being in America and poor. Also, who knows, this fanfiction may be completely obsolete thanks to changes they have made in this revival-which Book I is my gigantic answer to the problems I found in the Original London Production of the musical. Still, I consider this fanfiction my opus. Enjoy. You special soul, you!

Marian's feet set moving down the darkened alley, her eyes searching every corner, hoping that in any moment a visage resembling the former drawing master she knew would appear before her. Lights from the pawn broker down the street caught her eyes. Her fingers began to ache from the weight of her suitcase and tilted her body lower towards the edge of the thick stoned path. Marian turned the corner, following the man in front of her who had recognized the name she put to him. She flinched when the quick scurrying of a rat crept beneath the hem of her coat and brushed against her ankle, her heartbeat accelerating with every strident tap of her heel. 

_I know him, m'am. Come with me. I know him. He's in here_

Out of the darkness Marian felt hands grasp her arms. Thick, clammy fingers broke veins beneath her sleeves and skin as her own scream broke through the air. Another set of hands, a woman’s hands with calloused fingertips like talons clawed the suitcase from her hand. Suddenly she found her back on the ground, looking up into the black clouds, her head ringing, as hands pulled at what felt like every inch of her skin, tearing like hyenas on the remains of hide on a lion's ribs. Her forearms smashed into her knees as every appendage was used as defense. There were sounds all around her:

_Mr. Hartright! Help me, where's Mr. Hartright_! Marian heard a mocking voice. A great bulk suddenly pressed down her shoulders, and caught her body beneath a heavy set of legs, a man's legs. Once set across her, the man pressed his face into her neck. Marian screamed, feeling the uncomfortable heat from his legs and his maleness against her hips. She felt her neck muscle twitch violently as the man’s soiled hand pressed against her mouth to stifle her cry. _No time for that!_ She heard called out as her oppressor managed a violent thrust to keep her tight against him, bruising the small of her back on the cobblestoned street. In the one moment his arms were loosened, Marian set her fingers into the man's greasy curls. She tore at his hair to break his grip on her shoulders. Finally free from beneath him, Marian pushed herself from the ground to her knees. Another man grabbed her by her arms and locked her back against his chest, his hot and rancid breath in her ear and the stubble of his unkempt cheek prickling her neck. She was so frightened she could no longer make a sound but could only breathe and cry, and try amongst the flashing bodies running around her watch as her clothes were thrown over people’s shoulders, her shoes put in bags and lastly, a new man approach her as the one holding her back managed to reach his arm across her shoulder and stroke her breast as he restrained her arms. Suddenly she felt a bitterly cold blade against the line of her cheek, and her entire body became limp and she held her breath, staring into the man’s eyes and finally finding her voice again.

_‘Let me live, do to me what you want, only let me live’._

The man, with one sharp gesture of his hand, tore open her dress. Marian closed her eyes and sharp sobs began to leave her mouth, leaning her head back against the grizzled face in blank, open submission. His eyes stared at the shine of her locket against her white shift.

_I’ll take this to remember you by._

All she could feel next was warm slimy lips against hers and a pull on the back of her neck, breaking the locket she had fixed with the image of her sister inside of it. The man restraining her arms, with one last pull of her body towards him to feel her pushed her forward onto the pavement and howled with laughter. She could hear women now too, cackling like flocks of grackles on a branch overlooking the street as they ran after the men. Marian pressed her hands against the moist stones, righting her stance and trembling as she put her hands against her neck, wiping her mouth with her wrist and pushing her tousled hair away from her eyes. When she looked up, a man had entered the circle of light from the far away gas light at the end of the alley. Marian pulled the closure of her dress together.

It was Sir Percival Glyde, smiling, with one hand on the lamp post and the other sunken deep into his pocket.      

Marian blinked. The alley walls began to close upon her and the slats of windows compressed and faces, white and motionless, began to appear where the glass shattered. In bold white letters beneath their sullen faces were names: Lady Elizabeth Glyde, wife of Sir Wilfred Glyde II, all ancestries of the Glyde name. Marian realized she was back at Blackwater House in the large galleries on the lower floors only now they were slanted; tilting as if the entire house was balanced on a single point. As Marian gazed around her lost in the haze of confusion, she felt another set of arms push her against the newly contracted wall.

_I do not think I made it clear to you, Laura. You are my wife, and you will do what I tell you. Now sign that document tomorrow or I will lash you worse than you could possibly imagine._

His face was clear to her now, those wicked blue eyes set back into his head gazing hungrily on her face. Marian felt the pressure of his large hands heavy against her wrists as she turned her face to evade his eyes. Finding her breath again, Marian summoned her courage, her face growing hot as her fingers clenched into fists and she opened her mouth to scream:

_‘Die! Go to Hell you heartless bastard!’_

_Restrain her, Fosco!_ She heard Glyde's voice utter.

Marian lifted her knee into Glyde's legs, slamming her weight against him and pounding her fists into his chest. Sir Percival pushed her face into the wall, trapping her against the sharp protrusions of the gilded frame hosting one of the horrible portraits. A loud rumbling, like fast approaching thunder began to echo in her head and a tremor run through the walls and make the portraits shake and sway like pendulums.   

Suddenly through the walls of the room a train burst through, sending the room in shambles, the floor falling out beneath Marian's feet, air rushed against her, the roar of the engine pounding in her ears. Glyde disappeared in an instant. Marian’s fingers tore into the canvas as she moved to grab something to stabilize her. Sounds of squealing metals, gears, rivets bursting, sturdy wooden walls tearing apart and setting into the air like shrapnel from a cannon; a rush of violent air that made the tips of her hair sting her eyes as they struck like whiplash against her face. The enormous light from the end of the tunnel began to cast away the blackness and letting go of the painting, Marian pushed away from the wall keeping her eyes closed, enveloped by the sensation of falling, reaching her arms out and unable to hold to anything in the ruins.

She lay now, in a place unknown, with her arms outstretched to the whitened sky, suddenly able to see now that tall reeds broke the image and stood high above her head. She cast her eyes into the heavens as her lips parted, and a sharp breath cracked the air. She began to burn. Marian pushed her bare toes into the earth, dragged her hands against the roots and arched her back as a hot breeze blew her hair across her bare shoulders. Marian sang into the sunlight, trembling with ecstasy and tears forming in her eyes, all the sudden feeling warm breath on her face, and wild roving hands across her breasts and a gentle rhythmic pressure against her hips. She saw his face, half in darkness from the brilliant glare but his eyes opened, Walter’s eyes, staring into hers and using his fingertips to close her eyelids encouraged Marian to stay in her blindness. She reached behind her, opening her knees as she sounded cries of joy into the air, at once on fire from the heat of the hot sun on her face and the warm mass of Walter’s body atop her.

Suddenly the light began to fade, and when she stared up again Walter began to evaporate into the air, seeming to disappear with the breeze. She reached for him, screamed his name, but to no avail, and as he faded into the reeds the ground began to break beneath them and fall down around her. The reeds which surrounded her began snatching at her limbs like ropes and pulled her down towards the earth. Marian felt a cold burst against her head, like water thrown into her eyes, as the reeds began to circle her wrists and tie them together in front of her face.

_Come now, Miss Catherick, be a good girl._

An unseen force thrust Marian up from the soil, her eyes now staring forward through a set of large shining bottles and candle lights bouncing off of a large spoon held in front of her lips. She could see white coats, bearded faces and women with sharp white kerchiefs around their heads and red swollen knuckles. A man was seated across from her, his empty face motionless with his arms tied across his back as a strong scent of excrement invaded her nostrils.

_One more word about Lady Laura Glyde and Miss Havish will have to punish you. You do not want that now do we, Miss Anne?_ The voices called, discordant and loud. Marian saw that the reeds around her had become long thick straps of leather and muslin around her body, squeezing her arms against her breasts and making red lines across her wrists and shoulders. Her heart began to beat so heavily her lungs struggled for breath, her chest tightened and sweat broke across her skin. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, only empty breath which dried her throat and made her jaw tremble. Marian set her back against the wall as the large spoon inched its way towards her lips. She began shaking her head, trying with the most strength she could find to push her arms out from their shackles before the cold spoon touched her lips. With a sudden shake, the reeds around her wrists loosened and freeing her arms Marian shoved the nurses arms away. The terrible red liquid from the spoon splattered against her face and it spilled across her lap staining her neck and arms, suddenly seeming endless before she realized it was blood. She found voice again and screamed as blood began to surge out from under the ties across her waist in a stream as wild and winding as a river coursing down her legs. Marian lied back, staring up into the blackness and in her next blink, saw the Count standing above her.

_Hush mia cara…hush now…_ he said, touching her face. Marian's breath slowed, her sighing, gasping cries began to cease and her eyes glaze over in a final glance upon his lips, moving to kiss her mouth, as if it were to save her soul. Marian had no control, her limbs grazed the ground and her neck inclined back against his hand, still feeling as if she were in a river, chilled that it was her blood. He placed a hand upon her gushing waist, trying to plug the blood from seeping with his own fingers binding the reeds around her waist. She could feel death impending, and that her injury spoiled her pure, virginal delicacy to be condemned to coldness, her bridegroom being death, and the Count’s last, compassionate kiss.

            Seeing nothing around her but blackness, Marian closed her eyes, and instead began to hear something off in the distance. Marian opened her eyes. She turned her body, seeing now that she was not dead, nor tied up as it were. She was in one of her old dresses, soft pink and beige calico, and the terrible fear and emptiness abandoned her thoughts. When her vision cleared there were tall shrubberies all around her, their thick brown roots concealed by radiant yellow flowers swaying in their motions. Marian ran ahead, still perplexed by the high pitched sound she heard that seemed to come from the other side of the enclosed path of trees.

            It was laughter. A little girl’s laughter.

            ‘ _Laura!’_ Marian called, smiling and feeling her heart warm with delight and relief as the beautiful blue sky opened before her, coming across the coastline and the last dunes of the thick grass and scattered wildflowers before she found the source of the sound. It was a little girl, standing in the grass in a blue dress, holding daisies in her hand and smiling up at Marian. Her hair was dark and curly under a loose bonnet and her eyes sparkled when Marian stood before the girl. The girl smiled, and dropped all of her daisies before running back towards the brambly path still shrieking and screaming with delight at being chased. Marian followed, running with her hands lifting the hem of her dress to try and catch up, turning in different corners, laughing and at once shaking with uncertainty as to where the child could have gone. Marian turned around, her hand against her forehead burning from the sun, and in the corner of her eye she saw a figure hiding near the next path. It was not the child, but a beautiful young woman, with blazing golden brown hair all dressed in white. Her eyes were sad and blackened, but a smile was on her lips.

            _Anne!_ Marian called, _Anne wait, do not go, you are safe now!_

            Anne Catherick turned away from the path, and set out again in the maze of branches and thicket, running farther and deeper into the woods until the sunlight was gone and the little girl was nowhere to be found. An overwhelming dread struck Marian’s heart.  Looking around her again Marian saw glimmers of light all around her which curved in lines like the reflection of moonlight on the water. In a moment she could see that it was the lake of Blackwater Park, filled with life and the water shone in the moonlight as birds began to fly over her head and sing. She could hear the quiet music of the insects grinding their wings, the rustling of the leaves and the gentle sound of the waves hitting against the rocks. The dread did not leave her, but everything around her peaceful and beautiful. A fog began to roll out from the woods and hover out over the water where Marian again could see the outline of a figure, the little girl. Only now Marian could see the girl was sitting on the edge of the water, holding out her tiny index finger and making circles on the water’s surface.

            _Be careful, angel_ , Marian called. Without looking she ran forward, her feet sinking into the shallow remains of the lake and soaking her hem to her knees as it floated behind her. Keeping her eyes on the circles of light reflecting from the little girl’s fingertips, Marian pushed through to the shore losing her footing unexpectedly and pitching forward into the water but instead of finding the shallow earth again, Marian’s feet treaded through deeper waters; feeling nothing beneath them. She at last opened her eyes and saw sharp bands of light reflecting from the moonlight on the surface of the water, summoning her as it were to the surface despite the heavily soaked cotton weighing her down as it were. Breaking the surface Marian again, in an instant it seemed, found herself on her hands and knees on the shore. Catching her breath and feeling the water stream down her face she looked up towards the light. The little girl was standing by the lake facing the waters with her eyes cast towards Marian. Stumbling to her feet and reaching the girl, Marian brought the child into both arms and held her up into the light of the moon, sighing with a relief she had never before felt. The child continued to laugh as Marian turned her into the light. Marian was suddenly startled into silence when she realized she was looking into Walter’s eyes.

            The next instant the lake, the child, the moonlight, was gone.        

 

"Marian!"

Marian heard a foreign voice, unlike any of the other voices, a sharper quality, not distant and bellowing. She felt a hand on her forehead and wearily her eyes began to flutter.  

"Miss. Halcombe, calm yourself, it is over, the worst is done." A man's voice issued. "Your fever has broken."

 

            Marian opened her eyes, feeling her hands clenched amongst her sheets and pulled up to her face. Marian was now aware of the beads of sweat rolling down her temples and a wet chemise against her chest. Her hand settled below her neck as she closed her eyes, feeling a strong palm set against her forehead. Her bleary vision began to clear, and blinking she set her focus towards the man; the moisture around her eyes beginning to dry and reassemble to true forms before her and not watery outlines. She had seen his face before, and letting her hand rise to hold his, attempted to utter his name.

            "Mr. Dawson-

            "Yes," He said calmly. "I am here. You are with us again, Miss Halcombe. We haven't been able to speak to you in nearly a week."

            Marian's breath rushed, she pulled her weight from the pillows by the grip on his hand at once feeling lightheaded when she ceased and the momentum capsized by words escaping hastily out of her mouth:

            "Where is Laura? What has happened? Tell me, what about Walter-

            Mr. Dawson raised his hand and sounding a long but gentle hiss between his lips put his hand onto Marian’s shoulder. "Not to worry.” He said, gently coaxing Marian back against the pillows. “They are taken care of. Mr. Hartright's arm should heal in a month or so. It is only a fracture, thank heavens. When you have rested yourself I will talk of your sister.”

            "Ignore my ills Mr. Dawson, what about Laura, is she alright?" Marian said hastily, pulling the blankets up around her waist to clench in her fingers.

            "I am afraid your sister is still going to require some careful attention, Miss Halcombe. Though she proved determined enough to confront Sir Percival, I believe we have a case of damage to her nerves."

            Marian kept a hold on Mr. Dawson's hand as her pull on his arm guided him to sit across from her. He looked uncertain at first, then Marian addressed him, and he agreed to rest his weight on her bed. "What do you mean by this? Does she know what has happened?" 

            "Yes. She understands that her husband is dead. She also knows that you have been ill and Mr. Hartright has been very attentive to her, and I can see she does seem to conduct herself in a much better manner around him.”

“They have been in love for some time, Mr. Dawson. It is no secret.” Marian said, checking the look of uncertainty in discussion leave his face on her assurance to accept their behavior.

“It seems what ever Sir Percival or the doctors in the asylum Mr. Hartright and yourself rescued her from have used to restrain her mind has had a damaging effect on her behavior.”

“Oh, Laura.” Marian whispered, feeling Mr. Dawson’s hands tighten around hers. “How often have these episodes occurred?”

“Several times over the past few days, while she was watching you she was overcome with fits, some very violent and others she seems to become caught up in silence, staring off into nothing.”

Marian lowered her gaze, tears unwillingly dropping from her eyes. “Please go on Mr. Dawson it is my feminine weakness that cries, not I. Please, ignore my lack of restraint.”

“I have no intention of withholding anything from you Miss Halcombe, most of all your emotions. I have a daughter myself. I cannot begin to imagine the horrors put upon the two of you in this last year, and praise God that justice is served against that man.”   

            "Am I well enough to take care of her?" Marian whispered. Mr. Dawson pried a hand loose and put it atop Marian's.

            "You will be. I would give your recovery another week before you do anything rigorous. Keep to the house, and by all means, see Laura as often as you can, when your strength permits you."

            "It will in time, I assure you. I suppose this last fever should not come as a surprise, I have not been allowed the best care in this last month."

            "Mr. Hartright said you were in the care of Mrs. Vesey, Laura's former governess."

            Marian looked at Mr. Dawson, letting the words he had spoken process before she speak. But she could not. Puzzled, she merely uttered a sound which resembled yes, rather than attempt to reconstruct Mr. Dawson's previous story. Marian let the strange explanation pass, settling herself back into the sheets and pulling aside her braided hair against her neck.

            "I will send Jebson to have some broth brought up from the kitchen. I think you'll be well enough to start eating again." Mr. Dawson said, lifting the basin of water from her night table and carrying it carefully in his hands as he moved to leave her chamber.

            "Oh, thank goodness, to have known faces again." Marian whispered, lying back onto her pillows. "Will you also see if Laura will come?"

            "It is nearly a quarter to ten in the evening Miss Halcombe, but I will see what I can do." He said as he stood in the doorway, taking one final look before moving into her sitting room on his way out.

            "Mr. Dawson?" Marian said quickly. He replied, turning back and entering her chamber. "I must ask you something."

            "Yes, whatever you wish."

            "In this past week, have I bled?"

            "No, Miss Halcombe." Mr. Dawson paused. "The injury on your waist healed beautifully."

            She paused. "I mean-" Marian said, settling her palm across her waist. Mr. Dawson looked towards her, when the meaning of his words processed in his mind, he cleared his throat.

“No.”

            Marian nodded, she replied: "Thank you."

            Mr. Dawson smiled, and setting his glasses higher up onto his nose opened the door to her chamber and gently walked out, closing it delicately with his fingers to avoid the often heard squeaking hinges. Marian closed her eyes and rubbed them with the backs of her fingers, sitting forward and pushing forward the heavy and sticky blankets from her legs. She leaned over to her table, finding a handkerchief underneath one of her medicine bottles and removed it; her legs moving to the side of the bed as she pressed the clean cloth against the line of her hair. Marian’s toes felt the fibers of the wool carpet and looking for assurance before she stood, she reassembled the gathered fabric of her nightgown around her legs before moving to stand. To her dismay, her legs trembled, and she held fast to the post of her bed when she reached the foot of her bed, holding herself still, noticing that her robe was folded over the railing. She reached for the robe and set her arms into it, tying the cord around her waist as she made her way back towards her table. Marian leaned over, using the table to keep the weight off of her knees as she lowered herself to the ground beside her bed. Feeling another haze of weariness, she quickly pushed her hand through the fringed edging and ran her hand along the carpet, searching for a corner or an edge of the box she had placed there. Once under her hand, Marian lowered herself completely, the thick carpet scratching her breasts as she reached under the bed for the small box. She took the box in both hands, and blew small gusts of air across the top, the dust floating in front of her eyes as she moved to pull her bodily up from the table.

When she reached the top of the bed Marian placed the box atop the tousled sheets and inspected the lock. There were no dents, no cuts, and no signs of any attempt to break into its contents. Marian turned the dial of her lamp, brightening the far corner of the room where she stood. Lifting the lamp in one hand, and holding the hem of her skirts in the other, she walked slowly from her bed to her sitting room. The light bounced off the windows, causing several reflections walking in the same direction in the darkness as she made her way to a bookcase beside her desk. Marian, her hands beginning to fail in their grip on the glass lamp, placed the lamp down on the desk and her eyes roved the titles of the books. On the third shelf, just within the reach of her arm above her eyes she found the book she wanted. With delicacy and with one hand held out underneath the book itself she pulled it from the shelf, only than seeing a key begin to slip out from between the compacted pages. The key fell into her open palm, and hastily she pushed the book back into its cramped space before lifting her robe and lamp and walking slowly back to the bedroom. Everything in its place, the lamp on the table, and the small key in her right hand, Marian placed the key into the lock, and turning it pushed it open with her left hand. The box squealed and the metals of the lock clicked against each other as the lid fell back on the sheets, staining them with grey lines and indentations of accumulated dust. Marian managed a sigh of relief, seeing the black leather-bound diary exactly as she had left it. Under the diary, were three large bank notes, the last of her small fortune; a sum of three hundred pounds. She lifted the box and placed it onto her table, struck the sheets now powdered with dust, and moved to sit on the bed. Marian opened the pages, looking intently on the last cluster of pages near the end of the book. Marian found the signature of her cycle, a decorative motif drawn beneath the date of the entry in the shape of an ivy leaf. She began to tremble, and closed the book between her hands before laying her head against the pillows, the amber light filling the room doing nothing now but augmenting the darkness all around her.


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you sure Mr. Dawson thinks you well enough, Miss Marian?" Fanny said, lifting a petticoat from the foot rail of Marian's bed. The sun found its way into Marian’s room, the sheer panels on her windows rising and falling like flags in the soft summer breeze. Marian stood up from her seat, breaking her glance into her reflection, one hand on her hairbrush and the other over her diary she had carried with her.  

            "Well or no I feel a waste of life lying in this room." Marian said. "My sister is in need of care more than I." Marian continued, shaking her head with vigor when Fanny held her choices of stays on her arms. Fanny set them back onto her bed as Marian pressed her feet into her slippers. "What time does she wake now?" Marian continued, stepping into the piled petticoat; a white cotton one at her feet, and gathered the fabric of her shift in her hands to tighten around her legs. Fanny moved to grab the waistband and held it above Marian’s hips. Marian withdrew her hands, and held out her arms as Fanny tied the petticoat around her waist.

"Later than usual miss, then again she has yet to sleep a full night since she came back, poor dear." Fanny said, making a small knot against her spine and tucking the chemise with her fingertips.

            "Yes. Mr. Dawson told me about the dreams." Marian whispered. She pulled the waistband of her petticoat across her stomach, feeling only a small tingle of nerves react on her skin when she put pressure onto her scar. When Fanny saw it, she had gasped earlier, but to Marian it had never looked better. It had healed beautifully, but only outwardly. What possible tale could have been born to explain her malady to Mr. Dawson? Marian pulled the sleeves up her arms, too anxious to allow Fanny to place them.

            "Is she awake already?" Marian asked.

            "Yes, but Mr. Hartright insisted that if she was not well to sleep further. When I left, she was in her sitting room with Mr. Hartright and she fell asleep in his arms. Like a kitten, Miss Marian. I insisted that he put Laura back in her own bed but-

            "It was right of you to say so but do not separate them. Mr. Hartright's intentions are honorable.” _What ever that means_ , Marian thought.

            Marian watched Fanny's quick fingers pull the buttons across her waist, fumbling at first and struggling to mate the first pairs. When at last in progress to closing, at the line of her breasts, Marian pulled the fabric forward, the dress nearly an inch too large from when she wore it last.

            "Shall I pin it Miss Marian? It would be no trouble to take it to town to have it fixed when I go pick up some new things for Laura."

            "No, Fanny, do not trouble anyone. It may fill out in time." Marian said, letting her hands fall to her sides.

            Marian looked over to the window seeing the June sunlight pour in between the closed parlor curtains. She stepped forward, ignoring Fanny's laughter at the task of fastening her dress in motion. Marian took her diary into her hands as Fanny dropped her arms, letting Marian walk forward and placed the book on the window ledge before opening the curtains. Marian held her breath whilst the dust began dancing in the air. She unlocked the two panes and pulled them into the room, letting the warm air into her nostrils and the sunlight heat the rose toned calico. As Marian listened to the birds chirp in the trees below, she leaned over and rested her elbows onto the ledge, Fanny again walking up to meet her. Marian stepped back from the window, and allowed Fanny to stand in front of her to try and finish her task.

            "Marian?" A man's voice issued. Footsteps were heard and standing in the entrance to Marian's bedroom stood Walter. His arm was held in place by a muslin band which wrapped across his back. Marian’s heart quickened, but in the same moment she chilled, seeing his eyes filled with a different concern. Seeing his appearance alone, he was beaming, his face was shaven and his hands clean and his clothes no longer stained or worn with weeks of work. The sunlight caught in his hair and made shadows rounding out his shoulders and making points of light dart off of the buttons of his waistcoat and the toes of his shoes. Breaking her stare, Marian put her hand against her waist and finally heard what Fanny had been trying to relay to her;   

            "Pray excuse me Mr. Hartright, Miss Marian is not yet prepared-

            "Do not worry Fanny, he can approach." Marian said quickly, reaching across her sides to buckle the belt at her waist.

            "I needed to see you." Walter said, placing a hand on the frame of the door. “I wasn’t sure if you were still going to be resting today." He continued, walking forward into the room, Marian noticing that even his steps appeared lighter, as they were nearly the year before. She turned back towards the open window, managing a smile as she felt the warm sun on her neck. Walter stepped forward into the light and put his hand on Marian’s arm.

            “I wanted to talk to you about Laura.” He said, meeting her eyes.

            Marian raised her right hand to the level of her shoulder, sending Fanny out of her chamber, voicing a final protest:

            "Your dress, Miss, I haven’t finished." Fanny whispered.

            "I can take care of it. I’d like to speak to Walter alone." Marian said firmly. Fanny bowed her head gently, and walked out from Marian’s sitting room. Fanny left, letting the door to her chamber close a bit sharper than usual.

            "The doctor told me that we should expect more of these episodes. He did tell you about them didn't he?" Walter said, walking towards her as in her unrest, she settled the pillows on her divan and set herself on the edge, already anticipating the possibility of rising. Marian folded her hands across her lap, and tilting her head to avert a lock of hair from her eyes, addressed him:

            "I trust you to be more detailed than Mr. Dawson. What exactly happens to her?" She said, setting her eyes on him as he stood in front of her table. He was running a hand through his hair, his restrained hand fumbling with a pocket flap on his vest as he turned in small circles in front of her. Walter seemed to search for words hoping perhaps they would fall out from his hands or out of his pockets even. Finally, seeing her focused eyes meet his, Walter stopped his patterns and let his hand settle at his side.

            "It is the most unnerving thing." Walter said gently. "One moment she is fine-

            "And the next?" Marian said, putting one of her hands on the arm of the divan.

            "Terrified." Walter paused. "Completely terrified, there are moments where I think that she does not know me. There are black periods of time in her narrative; she has trouble remembering past events. And yet despite this, when she does remember them, she becomes so terrified the experience rather overwhelms her, and she is not able to contain her emotions. She hears things, and she tries to tell me about them but she just cries and cries. You and I both know the happiness she’s capable of, that brightness in her eyes she had before all of this. Now, it seems as if it’s lost, or if it is there it is hidden from us. Sometimes when I look at her I feel this tremendous sadness." Walter walked towards the divan and rested his weight on the edge. Marian clenched the skirts of her gown in her hands, trying to convince her that what testimonies she had heard about Laura weren’t true, that she would turn into the breakfast room and see her sister shining and beautiful and happy as they were before; now that the nightmare was over.

            "What can we do?" Marian said, trying to expel any remaining desperation.

            "He told us to keep careful watch. And to try to keep her safe from anything which might remind her of things that upset her. And there is some truth to it, this morning when she was well again, I showed her my book of sketches. It made her happy again Marian, and she looked so beautiful." Walter said, turning towards Marian on the last word.

            Marian put her hands onto her head. "A week, Walter. Has it really been so long?"

            "Yes. We were all worried, but Mr. Dawson came as soon as we wrote. I am afraid Laura did not get to see you after the third day, he was afraid you may be contagious again."

            "What else has happened?" Marian said quickly. "What about Sir Percival? Does she know?"

            "Yes. We told Laura about Sir Percival when she was in the carriage, but she never saw him." Walter said, adjusting his weight and putting his right hand atop Marian's. "He had no ceremony. His body was sent back to Hampshire four days ago. We know nothing else of how they will proceed. The authorities present took control. Marian?" Walter said, tightening his grip on her hand. Marian had lowered her eyes and placed her hand on her waist, toying with the belt buckle in her fingers as Laura used to, trying anything to distract herself from the fact that she felt lightheaded. Walter’s words cooled her heart, and she looked up for a moment trying to speak. 

            "Is something the matter, Marian?" Walter said, lifting his hand from hers and pushing the hair away from her face. Marian took his hand and placed it back into his lap, rising from her seat on the divan. Walter rose behind her.

            "I think it is clear that your affections for Laura have remained unchanged. I will have you know that this is how it must be." Marian said quickly, settling her eyes on a band of sunlight which, like the sail of a ship, curved up towards the open window. Marian walked to her window, placing her nervous hands onto the edge of the tied curtain, wanting in every moment to tear her hand away and go to her sister's side. Any action to tell her that it was all true. That here she was, back in her room, back into the world she shared with her sister. And that she was in a moment she thought would never come back to her again only now her own words lined with uncertainty and hesitation she had never experienced.

            "Are you sure?" Water said, rising from the divan.

            Marian stepped back from the window, turning towards Walter half in the light, her rose toned calico disappearing to whiteness in points at the brilliant glare of the sun. He stood, letting his arms relax. Marian's eyes traced the folds of the muslin cradling his wrist.

            "I am sure." Marian said, folding her hands together as she leaned against the wall. "We both know that is where you belong."

            Walter met her at the window and reaching out his hand, he brought Marian's hands to his lips. Marian looked up, seeing the sunlight reflect on the dull spots on his skin where scars were beginning to take place as constant reminders of their struggle. But his eyes were the ones she had remembered viewing before, a look that she had remembered seeing the night she found him. The same eyes that looked on her standing there in his doorway with the portrait of Laura in her hands. Marian watched a glimmer of light catch in the corner of his eye and course down his cheek, a tear, and she clasped Walter’s hand tighter than before and brought him into her arms. She laid her head onto his breast, fighting her own emotions that every moment she grew more afraid were coming forward more and more unrestrainedly. Walter put his hand onto her head, and pulling her out of her embrace he laid a kiss on her brow.  

            "Here we are. After all that we have been through, here I am asking for your blessing, as nervous as I would have been-

            "There is something I must tell you." Marian whispered quickly, the cage around her heart letting her deepest thoughts manifest into words seeping through the bars.

            "I was not sure of anything. I did not know how you would feel if I were to ask you." Walter continued, notes of joy returning to his voice. "I think now I understand." Walter took both her hands and placed them onto his chest, looking into her eyes. Marian's breathe paused.

            "I want to thank you. You are the most remarkable woman I have ever known."

            Marian let her hands drop and lay out her skirts as she sat on her bench beneath the window, no longer strong enough to look into his eyes.

            "You saved my life, in many ways." Walter continued, taking the seat next to her and again took her hand. "And we both know now that nothing matters but Laura's happiness. We must do everything we can to bring her back to us, to the days before everything happened."

            "Walter I do not deserve such flattery, and I certainly will never consider what I have done as a type of salvation, to anyone." Marian retorted, letting go of his hand and putting her hand on the ledge where only as she put her hand down, she remembered she had left her diary. She took the diary into her hands. Marian turned in her seat, preparing to leave the place at the window when a laugh escaped Walter's lips. He put his hand onto her shoulder.

            "Your dress. You did not let Fanny finish." Walter said gaily, taking the opened closure in his fingers and vainly trying to close a button with his fingers, letting his sling go slack against his arm as he tried to hold her still with his hand. His hands motioned over her chest, gently pulling the two sides closer together and slowly pushed the buttons through the loops. Marian’s hands dropped the diary into her lap and she held her breath, looking up into his eyes. Her lips parted and she watched the curving motions of his fingers navigating the cord loops sealing her into her paisley shell. Catching her thoughts, she placed her hands on his wrists;

            "No, really, it is fine. I will call her back soon." Marian said, rising and pushing Walter's hand to let her free. She crossed to her table and placed the diary down, the sound of the thick pages like a slap against her face. Marian finished the top button of her gown, and heard Walter’s footsteps advance behind her. 

            "Where did you keep the key?" Walter said.

            "In my collection of Aphra Behn." Marian said, half smiling.

            "Clever. The one place no man would dare to look."

            Marian’s emptiness disappeared, and with a loud burst of laughter she turned to Walter, settling her eyes on his smiling face and stifling her chorus of snorts with a hand over her mouth. Walter put his hands on her shoulders and walking towards the entrance to her chamber, led her by the arm out of her room.

            Marian’s eyes looked all around her, again in disbelief the walls around her were not objects of her dreams, and still remained untouched as they were. The same dark red carpets ran along the floor, with threads tattered and aged accumulated in clumps on the edges before the carpet reached the walls. The morning light came through the tall windows at the ends of the hall, and Marian put her hands on the railing of the stairwell and leaned over, staring down to the main foyer, the chandelier glimmering gold and hanging motionless above the servants heads below, she saw Jebson cross the foyer, one of the maids take her first few steps up the stairs with clean linens and a bird cross the wide stained glass window above the vestibule in a black dart across her eyes. Doors closed, and she could hear soft heels of shoes on the polished wood floors as Walter took the first steps down the stairwell, his coat tails moving left and right.

            “You are home, Marian.” He said, turning to look up at her. Marian put her hands on her waist, taking one last circle in her place to capture the world in her gaze. Marian reached out her hand towards Walter, and watched as he moved to take it but paused, a look flashing across his eyes behind Marian’s line of vision. She withdrew her hand, and turned, and there at the other end of the stairwell clad in violet stood Laura.

             It was not a week. It did not feel so short a time since Marian had laid her eyes on her sister. Marian stood frozen, staring as the sunlight came up behind her as Laura walked towards her. Laura’s figure was thin, her limbs appearing tapered and more slender than before, but white ashen hands came out from the beautiful lace cuffs at her wrist. Her face was paler, but her cheeks only rose toned across the tops of her cheekbones. Laura’s hair seemed thinner, but in waves of bright color and light they traced out the arrangement Fanny had created. Her hair was set with thin segments looping like a Celtic knot from the Limmeridge tombstones on the sides of her head. Laura’s eyes closed gently, and she stepped forward as Marian’s heart burst from its cage, bleeding out in tears that came to her eyes with overwhelming abandon and she opened her arms. Laura’s face brightened with her smile, the sadness in her eyes leaving if only for a moment when Marian put her hands on Laura’s cheeks and kissed her recklessly. The brightness from her smile was only faint, as if it were only a flickering flame as opposed to the sparkling diamond it had once been. Laura’s small hands wrapped around Marian’s wrists and she pushed her face into Marian’s breast, a sound which weakly resembled laughter coming from her mouth. Marian held her tightly in her arms, only than beginning to feel the sharper shoulder blades and protruding edges of her ribs beneath the pale violet cotton. Marian withdrew her from her grasp and unable to speak stared at Laura’s body a moment, seeing up close the wasted porous quality of her once delicate collar, running her fingertips across the line of her neck and up to where Marian’s hand could cradle her jaw and cheek in one large palm. Laura’s dimples returned, smiling broadly and putting her head back on Marian’s shoulder. The two women closed their arms around each other, and Marian took a deep breath, stopping her tears and finding her voice again to speak.

            “My love, were you looking for us?” She said, scarcely louder than a whisper.

            “Walter told me if I was hungry to go downstairs without you, but I did not want to go too far away.” Laura said. Her voice was soft, tones bright but weary as if her voice was swallowed by the hollow chambers of a cave, distant at first sound.

            “From now on, now that I am well, come right to me. We can do everything together, whatever pleases you.” Marian said, her entire body warming with a sensation she never thought she would feel again. She took Laura’s hand and kissed it, smiling as she looked into Laura’s eyes with the same enthusiasm she had when she first took Laura into her arms as a baby from the midwife. The first time she ever looked at her new bright pink baby sister and found herself struck dumb, wanting to carry her away in the blankets and keep her to herself for always. Marian’s eyes flashed, suddenly recalling the curling ivy leaf at the bottom of her diary entry, and the brief but vivid vision of the girl by the lake. The quixotic moment broken suddenly by a momentary burst of fear so strong it made Marian’s heart jump.

            “I left word to Jebson to have breakfast ready by a quarter to nine, so if you would like, Laura, I can see to any other particulars.” Walter said, approaching the step and keeping a distance from the pair. Marian held Laura’s hand and looked back at Walter before settling her eyes again on Laura, Marian’s pulse quickening with the involuntary memory and the need to voice her suspicions. Too afraid to continue her thoughts on the subject, Marian took Laura’s hand to her lips again and with vigor found words to keep Laura’s attention.

            “I’ll bring Laura down to the parlor and we can have the doors opened if you want and let the fresh air in. Would you enjoy that, my love?”

            “Wait!” Laura shouted; her voice suddenly loud and ringing. Marian was startled and without will her hand withdrew, seeing that Laura turned quickly and ran back towards her bedchamber. Startled and keeping her eyes on Laura, Marian and Walter followed closely, the both of them too nervous to speak or dare mention if the distress was caused by an ill memory. They walked into Laura’s room, where in a swirl of her violet hem in the sunlight she caught sight of a tiny leather book on the end of her bed. Laura reached towards it and took the book into her hands, holding it against her lips as she walked back towards Marian. Marian’s heart raced, and she stared back at Walter watching the beautiful creature before them with wonderment.

            “I forgot it; I want to keep it with me.” Laura said, opening the small book. Marian only than realized it was the keepsake Laura had made of her small watercolor paintings she had so often made Walter look at and criticize. It was precious to her during the time with Sir Percival, and Marian had not given thought to its existence in months. Suddenly in that moment she remembered the servant walking into her room that morning of the funeral, saying that Lady Glyde’s things were needing attendance as to what of value or sentiment need be maintained. She had refused to go into her room, Marian remembered, the pain still too new and too unbearable to look into the four walls of her sister’s room and imagine her absence from them. Marian’s relief drowned any thoughts of anxiety and she felt joy that the small artifact had not been destroyed. Walter opened his arms, catching Laura’s eyes and her expression of happiness at the book. Laura ran into his arms, the once distant sound similar to laughter now a full expression. Laura pulled Walter’s lips to hers, the two dizzy with contentment. Marian stepped back, and at once smiled and silenced the violent protestations still ongoing in her mind as she toyed with the clasp of her belt.

 

“Aren’t dreams extraordinary things, Miss Halcombe?” The Count said.

“You are in one still, are you not Count, refusing to recall that I am married?” Marian said, laying her hand against her chin to hold up the weight of her head on the window ledge, gazing intently at the Count.

“My apologies, Mrs. Gabriel,” The Count replied. “If that is what you referred to.”

“Indeed.” Marian said, letting her hand drop and follow the line of the window frame across the glass. The Count stared at her face, gazing down at the street below in the faded light of the sun now absent from their eyes and sinking beneath the building across the street. Marian’s eyes closed momentarily, the Count seeing flashes of peace or contemplation cross her sight.

“Yes. The dream I had was no coincidence. Everything was evidence, and I was filled with so much fear and yet at the same time felt a weight off of my mind; a calm that I can only describe as peace in the knowledge that I was not alone, nor would ever be again. Not just because my Laura was restored to me, but that I had a new life in view. I never got a chance, after those first few days, to feel happy about it. I realized what a terrible strain it was going to be to present to my sister.”

“Now that she was alive, there was no longer that need for fulfillment is that not so?” The Count said, pulling at the cuffs of his shirt, the sleeves of his coat becoming warm. The Count’s eyes met hers, Marian looked at them a long time while another memory seemed to paint itself as small changes in her expression. Sadness came across her face.

“Precisely.” Marian whispered. “But it was the wickedest thing for my mind to think, that a life with a child of my own could only have brought me joy if-

“If your sister had _not_ returned.”

The Count saw Marian’s head lower, her eyes cast down and for a moment her hand ornamented with the shining sapphire grasped the layers of green silk in her lap.

“I couldn’t sleep for days after I knew, when I knew for sure, and it was only a matter of time that Laura or Walter would see that uncertainty I projected. I knew, at the worst, I could keep my silence until the time my body began to change. Even with that thought I could not fathom keeping something so important from Laura. What Walter would say meant nothing to me; I wanted him to have nothing to do with my child. I was so frightened that Laura wouldn’t understand.  If I had tried to tell her what happened, I feared it would destroy her trust in me and at such a time when her security seemed so fleeting.”

“Tell me, Marian.” The Count said, finally feeling the courage to reach his arm towards her hand on the windowsill and place his hand atop hers. She did not flinch; instead Marian lifted her gaze and looked at him, their eyes staring into each others with what seemed like no restraints. The Count’s heart warmed, his fingertips tingled as they lightly stroked the soft skin on her hand mingled with the lace trimming on her cuff. Marian lowered her gaze again, making no effort to withdraw her hand from his touch. The Count smiled, and in that moment his entire present abandoned his mind. He saw the faint signs of color coming to Marian’s cheeks, a rose quality that was an entirely different shade from the redness that would come when her temper was roused. How young she looked, in that brief shimmering moment, the Count thought.

Another memory from his remote youth came surging back to the brink of his conscious, a memory of his hand atop the young girl seated beside him in the pew at services with his mother. He recalled the rushed panicky breaths of the boyish excitement he had felt augmented by the Latin choirs and coughs of the aging parishioners in the pew in front of him. The only memories of innocence he had ever recalled recently returning to his mind; an innocent love that at his age and point of disillusionment, sounded as foreign and nonsensical as a playing a violin concerto to a herd of sheep.

“Mrs. Gabriel,” The Count paused, his voice fading over the vowel before he continued on. “Treat me as you would your blank page; tell me, without fear, anything you wish.” The Count paused, waiting to see if the invitation would be accepted in Marian’s voice or action. Marian did not move, the Count let his hand move only a fraction in withdrawal, letting the precious giver of his enchantment see that insistence can at once become retreating. In more than one way, the Count realized he had never found himself on such a threshold, a moment of such delicate intimacy with a woman that he was uncertain of his next word. Finally Marian made a sound, a short breath and an airy chuckle escaped her lips. The Count followed his impulse to remove his hand, stepping out of the light as it were, to give his virtuoso the stage once more.

“I remember now, in that haze of doubt and anxiety, I met my husband.”


	3. Chapter 3

Marian brushed the crumbs off of her lap, the shadow of the brim of her hat cast across the ridges and folds of the blanket and her yellow cotton skirts. In the corner of her eye, she saw Jebson leave the path and turn back towards the house. The air moved around her, the wind coming in from the west and blowing the short blades of grass along the edges of her boots. Marian turned towards the open field, seeing Laura place her hands on the jagged trunk of a tall oak tree, her eyes cast up looking at one of the larger branches. Laura turned back towards Marian, smiling with traces of the Laura that used to be. Her pale hands settled on the bark and she pushed her weight up onto her toes; making her hair bounce and a wave of golden light in a line down her back.

“What do you see?” Marian said, rising to her knees and holding back the brim of her hat from covering her eyes. Marian finished the last savory juices of a strawberry moistening her lips as she cleared the small hairs from the corners of her mouth.

“A bluebird, I think it has a worm in its beak.” Laura said, adjusting her feet on the roots and craning her neck higher. “I can’t see it anymore.” Laura dropped her arms, and instead leaned her head against the tree and traced the deep ridges of the bark with her fingers.

Marian closed her eyes, feeling another cool summer breeze across her face and hearing the wind sway the leaves into a gently rhythm matching the distant sound of the breaking waves across the hill. Laura stepped back from the tree and turned towards the open grass where Marian sat. Laura walked hastily towards Marian and reached to the small basket next to Marian’s lap. Laura took the last strawberry and laughed brightly at Marian, who when she saw the empty basket gave Laura a glance of displeasure. Marian watched the strawberry’s red juices bleed out from the corners of Laura’s mouth, and laughed as Laura attempted to catch the drops from her lips; the red lines twice as bright against Laura’s pale skin. When Laura’s hands were at last free, and she put the tips of her fingers in her mouth to catch the last drops. Laura stepped away from the blanket, looking off behind Marian’s gaze.

“Where are you going?” Marian said, turning to see Laura begin to run towards another boulevard of trees.

“Just down towards the summer house,” Laura said easily, placing one of her hands on one of her long strands of amber brown hair. Marian turned in her place, pulling her skirts into place and now holding up her hand at the level of her eyes to avert the glare now shining onto her face. As Laura turned towards the path begun by the wall of hedges, disappearing from view, Marian turned to her left when she heard twigs near her feet snap. When her eyes adjusted from the glare, and the sun behind her again, Marian looked up and saw Walter leaning down, settling his legs down to occupy the place on the blanket beside her.

“Did you just come back?” Marian said, inciting conversation, “Laura went to the summer house.”

“In truth, Marian, I was hoping to speak to you alone.” Walter said, using his free hand, once sitting, to unbutton the four closures on his waistcoat, and adjust the muslin band holding his forearm still. Walter looked behind Marian, towards the path where Laura had escaped, before leaning in closer to her.

“I did not want Laura to know this endeavor I’ve started, but I want to tell you because I should be lost without your help.”

“Tell me, Walter, what is it?” She said, noticing the napkin on her lap was now hopelessly folded in disarray under her thigh, and starting to fold it and place it back into the empty basket.

“I have started, for the sake of not only my clarity and retention of the important details, but for her sake as well, to write a narrative of the conspiracy she suffered. I haven’t got much, but I was given the idea to write when Mr. Dawson and I had a conversation and he asked if I had wanted him to contact the doctor who had occupied Blackwater House when Anne was captured. He asked me if I would like to help him acquire a written statement from the doctor of the period of time he spent and if he perhaps could also shed some light onto the case. I have half a mind, Marian, of perhaps trying to get as many accounts as possible of those who have been in close association with the events surrounding the crime against Laura and Anne Catherick.”

Marian paused, letting the key words in Walter’s appeal settle in her mind, and looking back from her gaze at the now neatly folded napkin, she looked up. “It sounds like a tremendous undertaking, Walter. Are you sure you want to involve so many? And now, when Laura is so sensitive about the subject?” Marian said, resting her hands in her lap.

“I have also told you about this endeavor now because I was delayed this morning from joining you here from getting a letter from Mr. Kyrle. I intercepted the letter from our carrier this morning on the way back from town. I wrote to him about this idea when you were ill. I have not had the chance to speak to you about it. Mr. Kyrle agrees with the idea, for Laura’s sake, in truly restoring her identity on paper once and for all. As your family barrister he was very intrigued with setting out to attain the forensic evidence. I did not want Laura to hear me speak of these things out for fear it would upset her.” Walter said, now comfortably leaning back on his good arm and basking in the light, his chin inclined high towards the open sky and his eyes closed just as the sun momentarily hid behind a cloud.

“It was right of you to keep this from her, but I’ve been well now for nearly a week, you could not find the time to tell me? I could have helped you-

“You still can, Marian, greatly.” Walter said, his enthusiasm making his relaxed demeanor break and his leaned forward, sitting across from Marian with the garden path behind her in his line of vision. “I want your approval more than any single person, because in truth, your diary seems to be the most valuable source of evidence.”

“I agree.” Marian said, forthrightly. “But Mr. Kyrle, how did he reply?”

“Mr. Kyrle approved, and said that he and his friend, another barrister whom he is closely associated, agreed to serve as editors and sources for seeking out the appropriate people we can compile evidence from. I was reminded the urgency to tell you this again because my letter I received today from Mr. Kyrle said he would be arriving here with his friend tomorrow afternoon.”

Marian adjusted her weight, looking forward at Walter’s face as she motioned to stand. Marian found her footing and ignored Walter’s offering of his hand to bring her to balance.

“And you could not enlighten me of these proceedings? What are we to tell Laura now, with Mr. Kyrle and a stranger coming to the house tomorrow with her nerves the way they are?”        

“Marian I understand but-

“What? That you, because of a temporary relapse of my illness, have suddenly taken to handling all of our affairs, including _mine_?” Marian said, finding her strong stance.

“What do you mean, Marian?” Walter said, rising from the blanket quickly and looking at her cautiously.

“Mr. Dawson told me that you had said I was in the care of Mrs. Vesey after I left Limmeridge.” Marian said, stepping forward on the blanket toward Walter, finding her old tempers beginning to rise up, which thrilled her like seeing the face of an old companion.

“What would you have me tell him, that you and I were living in a brothel?” Walter said, nonplussed.  Marian gasped, holding up her hand in range of his mouth. “You see,” Walter continued, holding her wrist and placing it back at her side. “It was the best alibi I could think of. I do not mean to say this to you in a forward way, but I am afraid there are some truths which must go unspoken. For the sake of Laura’s well-being, and the protection of our reputation-

“ _Your_ reputation,” Marian chided.

“How can you speak so coldly to me, Marian?” Walter said quickly. “What have I done to anger you, I am protecting the woman I love, and who you _told_ me to love unrestrainedly.”

“Do not ever let me hear you say things like that; what would Laura think if she heard you?” Marian said, stepping back from him and suddenly realizing her heart was racing and her palms began to sweat. “I know you love Laura, and please do not try to make something moral about what happened between us.”

“Hush, Marian!” Walter said, stepping forward again to meet her reaching his hands out to hold her arms. Marian turned away, his face too close, and the tone of his voice suddenly harsh.

“Marian, I am sorry, but you and I both have seen the changes in Laura, and I have seen the flashes of hope, please forgive me if I seem all too eager to set about trying to repair everything to bring Laura back to us.”

“You can start by letting me go, what would she think if she saw you holding me like this?” Marian said, referring to his close proximity, his lips close to her ears to sound his message as loudly and yet as gently as he could, but the stance and placement of his hands more intimate than any gesture Laura would have seen shared between her beloved and her sister. Marian stepped back, the sunlight in her eyes momentarily making her vision blurry and her calming heart accelerated again, letting her hand rest against her forehead.

“Marian are you alright?” Walter said, his gentle voice again returned as he pushed back the hat from Marian’s face and took it in his hand. Marian’s control cleared, and suddenly she was helpless to stop herself from holding fast to Walter’s arms, falling forward slightly as her knees beneath her momentarily gave out. “Marian!” Walter cried. Marian found her stance again, and as soon as her body returned to her control set her hands against her head and slowed her breath, trying in spite of everything to control the sudden faintness that had overwhelmed her. Walter placed his hands on her face, and when Marian opened her eyes, she met his; filled with concern and fear.

“I am sorry I upset you.” Walter said hastily, “I didn’t mean to make you ill.” He said softly.

“It is nothing, I am fine.” Marian said quickly, settling her hands into straightening the pleats of her skirt. Marian looked up again, and the quiet all around them seemed all too inviting, and his gaze of concern perfect to receive the last bit of news she herself had kept hidden. The thoughts that had every night for the last six days robbed her of hours of sleep, and had made her check the corners of her diary’s pages countless times, stare into the folds and layered skirts of her shifts every morning, and recall again the gentle laughter of the child in her dream. There were no sounds, no calls, Laura was nowhere in sight.

“Walter, there is something I must tell you.” Marian said putting her hand on his arm. Walter looked at her intently, and checked again towards the path, breaking his glance as Marian too dropped her gaze and tried to find the adequate words. Before she could speak, Walter had taken her hand in both of his hands and gazed with anticipation, a look Marian could only see as a man preparing himself for news of the worst or more worrying nature. She couldn’t speak, seeing the concern in his eyes Marian dropped her gaze and placed her hand on her waist, trying to fight tears that were beginning at her eyes. Walter stepped closer, nearly moving to embrace her but too afraid to let go of her hand. Marian swallowed her breath, set her eyes back onto his face and took his two hands. She pressed them to her waist.

“It’s been a month. I’ve only known for a week and I haven’t had the courage to talk about it.”

Just as Marian spoke her last word, Jebson came from behind the walled garden path and before Walter could even speak, he stepped back from Marian, putting his hand across his mouth. Jebson stepped forward, his old eyes not catching the subtle tortures beginning to break across Walter’s face.

“Are we finished here in the garden, Miss Halcombe?” Jebson said, leaning his already curved back over to catch the tip of the blanket Marian’s left foot still held under her. Marian stepped back, and nodded.

“Yes, Jebson, you can bring everything back inside.” Marian said, holding up her skirts and keeping her eyes on Walter. He had turned away from the scene, and was walking towards the tall oak tree Laura had set her mind upon finding the blue bird in earlier. Jebson seemed to take forever to fold the blanket on his waist. Taking the small basket and making a bow towards Marian, Jebson stepped back and worked his way across the large roots back to the garden path.     

The breeze became stronger, and Marian’s hat fell from Walter’s hand as he stood beneath the tree. Her tears disappeared, and instead, Marian stepped forward towards the tree and went cold once in the shadow of the great branches. Walter still had not made a sound; he placed his arm against the tree and made a fist with his hand. His eyes were closed and his neck inclined down, the weight of his very thoughts seeming to pull his head down towards the earth perhaps to burrow it in black and welcome ignorance for eternity.

“Walter, please say something.” Marian said gently, approaching him from the left. “Or if you cannot, I will talk. Do not blame yourself, and I must tell you the truth which is that this”, Marian put her hand on her waist. “This is what I wanted.”

Walter finally opened his eyes; he dropped his arm from the tree and met her glance.

“What do you mean?” He said, the tones of his voice deeper than anything Marian had heard from his lips. “You _wanted_ this? Why?”

“I told you I would never ask you again, because in truth, Walter, I thought that after we had achieved justice against those men, I had every intention of never seeing you again. I thought for sure I had nothing left to look forward to in my life but solitude here at Limmeridge House with Laura’s uncle as the only person who would speak for me. Even if I had to live under Glyde’s eye, I would have spent my life alone, and willingly, if I knew I had something left to keep me hopeful. You gave me something to live for, Walter.” Marian said, her voice beginning to lose its’ confidence. “But now that Laura is back-“

“Oh Laura,” Walter said, pushing back from the tree and putting his hand onto his head, shielding his eyes from the sun once out from the shade of the tree.  

“Now that she is here, thanks to God that she is, I now know no way of proceeding. I do not know when I can explain everything to her. I wanted to raise a child in her image and now that she is back-“

“What do you mean to explain, Marian?” Walter said. Marian turned to him and saw that the paleness was now present on his face. “Not with Laura the way she is now, the way we are now, Laura and I, you couldn’t possibly!” Walter’s voice began to bellow.

“Hush!” Marian said, stepping closer to him, her hand raised to his airborne fist. “I have no intention of destroying my sister’s happiness. What happens to me should in no way change your plans to marry her, do you understand?” She said, grasping his arm firmly.

“What are you talking about Marian? How can you expect Laura to keep from knowing you’re pregnant?!” Walter said, his tones again becoming too loud for Marian’s comfort. Enough that Marian took her hand and pushed it against his mouth, shaking his balance and forcing him to lean his weight onto another smaller tree near the path.

“Listen to me!” Marian said, dropping her hand from his mouth. Walter stared at her face, waiting but still noticeably, by Marian’s eyes, lit with fury. “I will handle this. I have known Laura Fairlie her whole life, I know when the time will be right, and I will find the time before I am helpless to conceal it anymore. I am asking you not to panic.” Marian paused. She stepped back from Walter and moved out from the shade of the tree into the glaring light. Walter remained standing beside the tree.

“I beg of you not to speak of this to anyone, not even Laura. _I_ will decide when to tell her.” Marian stepped towards the path, her feet crushing the small stones into the dirt beneath her. She looked back towards Walter, only than remembering he had dropped her hat on the ground. Marian locked her eyes onto Walter’s. Without word, he stepped forward from the tree into the light and lifted her hat from the grass. Hearing the faint sound of Laura’s laughter, and the patter of footsteps advancing, Walter handed Marian the hat. She took it, and settling it firmly onto her head turned to see Laura smiling, her arms full of wildflowers from the gardens around the summer house as she ran towards them.


	4. Chapter 4

Marian watched as Fanny placed the three large rolls of fabric in her arms, after having placed the sterling on the table. Her smile broke the solid expression of negotiation she had, seeing for how little twenty yards of new calicos could be bought. Marian reached again to hold the fabric in her hands, seemingly judging with her fingertips the weight and warmth the fabric would provide her sister.

“Thank you.” Marian said to the vendor, turning towards Fanny to leave the shop.

“When did you say we could take them to Miss Casswell to start her work?” Marian said, taking the first steps toward the carriage. Fanny placed the three large bolts on the back of the carriage. Marian came along side her and uncovered the large muslin straps concealed under the bolts to hold them down. The two women took either ends and tied the bolts firmly to the back of the carriage. Marian stepped forward, holding up her hem as she took her first step up into the seat. Fanny came along beside her, and once settled, tapped the wall of the carriage and the wheels began to turn.

            “Next week, she said,” Fanny replied, “It was wise to get some wool for the autumn before she became too busy. You said the brown and grey was for you, correct? I will take them to Julia tomorrow while our visitors are here, you don’t have to worry yourself about it.”

“Thank you, Fanny. Mr. Hartright and I appreciate all the help you’ve given.” Marian said, tightening her fingers on the loop of leather keeping her balance steady as the carriage swayed across the cobblestones. Marian leaned forward and looked out of the window, seeing the branches of the trees move in and past her line of vision seeming endless. The branches were swaying and the sky was encumbered by large grey clouds beginning to break across the horizon. She could smell the air and sense the rain beginning to threaten in the skies. For the first time Marian noticed that her trepidation at being in the rain was different. She caught herself thinking that should she be caught, the risk to her health was no longer a solitary matter. Marian looked into her lap, keeping her hand on the side but an instinct she had never known telling her to put her arms around her waist to protect the life she harbored. Satisfying at least part of her new reaction, she pushed herself farther into the carriage, moving into the shade of the small curtain. Her hand hit the side of Fanny’s leg and the two women laughed, Marian than finding a way to touch her side, again overwhelmed by the need to keep her hand close. She caught Fanny’s eyes, and Fanny smiled and placed her hand in Marian’s.

“I am so pleased to see you looking well again, Miss Marian.” Fanny pulled Marian’s hand from her waist and held it in her lap. “I can hardly tell now that you were ever ill. And Laura too looks better every day. Seems that one day soon Limmeridge will be as it was before.” Fanny ended, looking out on her side of the carriage. Marian was relieved, the last statement that had passed Fanny’s lips was impossible to react with anything but longing. Not the longing of hope that Fanny had expected, but the feeling that Marian felt in the knowledge that those hopes were no longer there and never would be again. She knew now that nothing was ever going to be like it was. The laughter left her vocabulary in the moment Fanny turned to look out the window. Marian’s eyes than saw the break beginning in the trees, where the train tracks set the two dense forests apart.

“Mr. Kyrle wrote yesterday that he would be arriving on the one fifteen.” Marian said, deciding to focus her attentions on the now impending meeting of the two barristers. Marian looked out and saw the entrance to the station. One or two men in groups began to walk into the platform, looking over to the left side where the tunnel began to take the trains under the adjacent hill. Staring into the platform, Marian saw that a train was stationed and the signal man crossed the entrance hailing the conductor. Fanny leaned forward as the carriage came to stop. Marian turned the handle of the door and pushed it out, stepping forward and holding onto the band as she found her footing on the step and moved down onto the dirt road. She heard the loud engine hiss and release the air from the furnaces and the scent of fire and steam cross her nostrils. Fanny exited the opposite side and came around, standing beside Marian.

“You go ahead into the platform; I want to walk for a little while.” Marian said gently, looking towards the large section of trees adjacent to the tunnel. “I shan’t go far.”

Fanny stepped forward, a slightly disparaging look flashing across her blue eyes. Marian turned away and started walking down the road. The dirt path ran alongside the train tracks, separated by a row of thick trees and brush until finally the woods were wild near the entrance of the tunnel. Marian turned towards the platform, seeing that no one was around to watch her. She lifted her skirts and stepped over the small rock wall dividing the road from the woodlands around the station. Marian kept her hands steady and her eyes on the ground as her feet motioned over the rocks and sticks and brush leading into the woods. Marian dropped one side of her dress, holding her balance on the bark of a tree and looking around her.

Marian could feel Anne’s presence all around her. She could see so vividly in her memory the instant her eyes had locked into the beautiful apparition that had appeared to her before Walter had taken her away.

“I am sure I saw you.” Marian whispered into the air. She walked further, constantly pushing aside her skirts from sticking into the short brambly shrubs and keeping her feet high in her stride to avoid tripping on the thick roots. Marian’s want to see her, to find a connection to Anne in that moment made her heart race and her hands began to tremble unwillingly. Marian turned towards the railroad tracks, seeing that she was far enough from any people standing on the platform. She could only see faint outlines of the people waiting from the thickening branches. Marian found a break in the woods, a section beneath the tall oaks and pines where she could stand without restrictions. Marian looked around, hearing the faint calls of birds and the hurried shuffling of small creatures in the brush around her. But her heart still raced, and Marian was overwhelmed by her want to speak.

“Anne, if you can hear me, wherever you are, know that I will remember you.” Marian paused. Feeling a loss of control, Marian’s eyes began to water. She laughed, knowing full well her cause of tears. Every sensation felt different, every emotion heightened to a place she had never known before and all knowing the reason why was the only change in her life she had never experienced; the change of being a mother.

“You are not alone, Anne.” Marian whispered, placing her hands on her waist.  Marian began to laugh again. She reproached herself in her thoughts: _what am I doing alone in the woods talking to the air?_ Marian heard her inner voice chide. Marian looked around, seeing the short memories she had of Anne Catherick play out again behind her eyes, hearing her voice, seeing her long brown hair set against the dirtied white shoulders of her gown. Marian began to imagine Anne’s life, imagine the feelings which at Anne’s unprepared youth Marian only knew of now, so late in her life compared to Anne. Marian felt no restraints when her imaginations turned, and she knew for the first time the emotions Anne must have experienced at the horror of Sir Percival’s hands. Marian’s heart raced, her hands rushed to cover her face as she recollected the words Sir Percival had used to describe the body of Anne’s baby floating on the shores of Blackwater Lake.

“It is done.” Marian said, breaking out before her recollections could escape and send her to the precipice of her sadness. “He can’t hurt us anymore.” Marian turned, looking back towards the far distance to the road where she had entered the woods. She began to wipe the tears from her eyes with her sleeve as she stepped forward over the roots. Marian looked back, seeing only for a moment the clouded shape of the sun break out between the branches and into her view. The sky turned green.

“I have a secret too.” Marian whispered. She took her skirts in both hands and turned back towards the road. Marian ducked under a lower branch, too thick to be pushed aside, and a branch pulled out a strand of hair from her bun. Marian looked around her, seeing the break ahead where she had entered the woods and feeling a cool breeze rush past her face. She watched her own feet step forward and snap the tiny twigs under her black boots and a hand drop one side of her dress, her hands pricked by the bark of the nearest tree. When she stepped forward, she felt a jolt at her waist, and turned quickly to see that the hem of her dress was caught. Looking at the source she saw the sharp edge of a broken branch, but the branch standing upright on the side of a smaller fallen tree. Marian huffed, trying as she could to turn and reach the back of her dress.

_“Is that you Miss Halcombe?”_

Marian’s heart jumped, and quickly she turned from her attentions on her dress and looked ahead towards the opening in the woods. Unwillingly her intake of breath was sharp, and she put a hand to her chest, feeling the tension of her lungs stretch the ties of her stay. The shock subsiding, Marian focused her eyes and saw that between the two trees stood a man. Before she could make out his features, the brown tone of his suit on his limbs came forward when he stepped into the brambles.

“Don’t move, you might tear it.” He said quickly, Marian only than seeing his eyes from beneath the brim of a hat. Marian set her hands onto her hips, pulling her skirt taught as the man came beside her and leaned over. With a quick hand he pulled the hem from the branch. Her heartbeat still staggering from the shock of his presence, Marian marched quickly out of the woods and reached the short rock wall, only than turning around to watch the man leave the woods. Marian watched his solid frame easily move out of the trees and his hands reach over and brush down the sleeves of his coat as he made his way out. She at last caught a glimpse of his face, a gentle disposition with prominent hazel eyes that caught hers as he came forward towards the wall. He stood straight and allowed his hands to rest at his sides, but not before shuffling for a moment and wiping his hands on his coat before he dared to extend one.

“I am so sorry to have startled you, you are Miss Halcombe am I correct?” He said, letting his hand stay at the height of his waist, waiting.

“Yes.” Marian said quickly, catching her breath and feeling with her hands the short twigs that had found their way into her hair. She hastily pulled them away and brushed down the peplum of her coat. “I meant to return to the platform. You must be Mr. Kyrle’s friend.”

“Oh how foolish of me, yes. Now that we are out of the wilderness, let me introduce myself. My name is Aaron Gabriel.” He said, laughing as he extended his hand. Marian took it and catching the joy from his laughter she smiled. There was an appealing youthfulness to him, yet by looking into his eyes, he looked no older than she. Beneath his dark hat she could see traces of his reddish brown hair.

“The young lady waiting at the platform told me you had gone for a walk-

“Yes, I thought you would be arriving on the one fifteen.” Marian said, lifting her hem again to step gingerly over the rock wall. Mr. Gabriel stepped after, now off of the slope and irregularity of the grass Marian noticed his height.

“William and I decided to leave earlier; I hope we have not inconvenienced you if you were not prepared?” Mr. Gabriel continued. As Marian stepped forward onto the dirt road she tried as unnoticeably as possible to observe him.  His face was clean, but not well shaven, with a strong jaw but his cheeks marked with memories of freckles that added to her recognition of his vitality.

“Not at all, Mr. Gabriel, we were well prepared and I’m very pleased you and Mr. Kyrle are so prompt.” Marian said, looking over seeing the carriage now in view and Fanny and William Kyrle standing near the entrance to the station. Kyrle seemed older than she remembered him to be, but still assured in his stance and smiling pleasantly as Marian approached them in front of the carriage.

“Accept my apologies for not receiving you, Mr. Kyrle.” Marian said, extending her right hand to him whilst her left continued to brush down her jacket to remove any more traces of vegetation about her person.

“It is a trifle, Miss Halcombe, I have heard a good report on yours and Miss Fairlie’s health and I see the proof of it.” Mr. Kyrle said, the moment after raising his hand to his face to shield his sneeze. “I am afraid I cannot say the same, something on the train seems to have set my sinuses into frenzy. I apologize.” Mr. Kyrle continued. Marian withdrew her hand. The other lawyer, Mr. Gabriel, on her right began to place to two small bags Mr. Kyrle had left on the ground beside him into the back harness on the carriage. Fanny pushed the bolts of fabric up, letting Mr. Gabriel set the suitcases in sturdy positions.

“Thank you, Aaron.” Mr. Kyrle said, looking past Marian’s vision towards the back of the carriage. Aaron removed his hat and tipped it towards Mr. Kyrle, Marian seeing the early signs of recession on his hairline. Whilst studying all of the activity around her, Marian did not notice that the door of the carriage had been opened, and that Mr. Gabriel had extended his hand to take Marian’s. Seeing it, Marian took it and stepped up into the carriage. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness in the carriage she saw Fanny take the seat beside her before each of the men began to settle in. Mr. Kyrle had found his handkerchief in his breast pocket and placed it squarely over his nose to shield another mild sneeze. Marian let a laugh escape her lips when she saw Mr. Gabriel move over in his seat.

“I feel sorry for the poor fellow,” Mr. Gabriel began. “He has done nothing in the last week but tell me about the beautiful countryside around Limmeridge and what a relief from London it would be.” He concluded, the jolting motions of the carriage forcing him to remove his hat from the discomfort of the brim knocking against the rear wall. “And from what I have seen of it thus far I have to agree, I see why, Miss Halcombe, the nature can be so inviting.”

Marian looked up, meeting his eyes and smiling to herself. She felt Fanny’s eyes on her and turned to confront them. Marian looked out the window, seeing that the skies had a last opened with rain and lines of water began to course down the glass.

“The fabric!” Fanny cried, tapping the side of the carriage, telling the driver to stop. Marian held fast to the strap on the wall as the carriage lolled to a stop, the last roll of the wheel forcing the hat from Mr. Gabriel’s lap onto the floor near his feet. Mr. Kyrle peered out, withdrawing his handkerchief from his now irritated nostrils. A flash of light passed over the trees, and the nest moment thunder began to roll across the land. Fanny opened the door and stepped back into the carriage, the shoulders of her coat spotted with raindrops.

“I apologize gentlemen, we can proceed.” 

            Marian looked up, watching the skies above her swirl and mix colors of grey, blue, and green like the hand of God swirling a brush onto a palate. The leaves began to rustle and the sound of the conversation slip out of focus when she heard another roll of thunder echo over the hills. Among the other changes Marian had begun to feel, her focus, if diverted could revert back in an instant to a sound similar or even matching the sound of Laura’s name. Instead, between the patter of rain on the glass, she heard the gentlemen converse, and seeing Mr. Gabriel raise his hand and point back towards the train station, utter a phrase which brought Marian from her reclusion.

            “It said Ms. Fairlie’s late husband, Sir Percival, was killed at a crossing near the Limmeridge estate, was this station the one where he met his end?” He said, momentarily tapping his fingertip onto the glass in the last three beats of his sentence; _met his end_. Marian’s eyes caught his, and seeing Mr. Kyrle cover his mouth with his handkerchief again to stifle a cough, she leaned forward.

“You will pardon me Mr. Gabriel but I wouldn’t mention that subject around my sister if she were present-

            “I’m sorry.” Aaron said gently, holding the brim of his hat on both sides and circling it in his lap as a sea captain would a helm.

            “Forgive me, Mr. Gabriel, I didn’t mean to sound discourteous, but it is still a sensitive issue, my sister has not entirely recovered.” Marian said, folding her hands together in front of her. Aaron, nonplussed it appeared, nodded gently. They exchanged glances, but by his look Marian could see him focus his attention to her bosom as she inhaled, before venturing to speak again. 

            “You may be as straightforward as you like, Miss Halcombe. Do not deny me the pleasure of hearing what you really think.” He said with a smile. “And if William has not changed his mind, I will be the one helping with compiling your testimony so I would encourage it. But if it is no disappointment, I should like to delay talking of that today, all can be put aside. I wish to acquire your trust before I dare write a single word."

            “Thank you, I have never undergone such a task before. As for the intent of all this compilation, I would suggest speaking to Mr. Hartright; he has taken the responsibility for how we will proceed.” Marian said, taking the moment to again glance out the window as Fanny turned to Marian.

            “I am not entirely sure what is happening, did you say that he is writing a book?” She said, looking towards Marian. At that moment, Mr. Kyrle lowered his handkerchief from his nose, where Marian noticed a spot of red on his nostril, the man’s condition finally causing his skin to break from the pressure. Marian’s eyes instead turned to Mr. Gabriel, who now had stopped turning his hat in his lap to focus his attentions.

            “We hope that soon we can, through looking at my diary and other records, to collect the names of everyone involved with this conspiracy that took place against Laura. We want to obtain the testimonies of people who were present for some of the actions of Sir Percival, as well as eye witnesses, anything to help us prove in a court of law that Sir Percival and his accomplice, Count Fosco were guilty not only of stripping my sister of her fortune, but of the murder of an innocent person, Anne Catherick, in the process.”

            “You told us that Sir Percival did confess did he not?” Mr. Kyrle said, unbuttoning the top button of his coat as the carriage swayed.

            “Yes, not in writing, but yes. As for the Count, he never says anything directly, but we do have a remarkable entry in his own words when he obtained my diary during my illness. But Mr. Hartright and I will be looking closely and compiling the list of those involved so we can start with the process of testimonies. That is where you gentlemen will be of greatest help to us.” Marian said, her voice settling comfortably around her ears. “I hear your specialty is testamentary, Mr. Gabriel.”

            “Precisely, there isn’t a barrister in England as devoted to detail as Aaron here.” Mr. Kyrle said, before a tickle in his nose caused his eyes to water and another sneeze shake his frame.

            “God Bless you.” Fanny said, leaning over towards Marian. Marian matched eyes with Mr. Gabriel, whom she had noticed held the leather strap on the wall a bit tighter the moment the sneeze was sounded. He looked at her, unable to restrain the laugh from leaving his mouth. In the next moment, he checked himself, but too late to be seen in the corner of Mr. Kyrle’s eye. As a flash lit the sky, Marian pressed her hand over her mouth to keep the laugh from bellowing like a church bell, providing a low countermelody to the high tins of Fanny’s laughter which soon followed.

 

            Sooner than Marian had realized, between the murmur of the distant thunder and the hum of conversation, they had reached Limmeridge. Taking a glance out of the window to see the rate of the rainfall, she saw that the valet had already stood waiting below to welcome the gentlemen. She heard the leather straps untie, the bags be set momentarily on the moist rocks before leaning out toward the rain. Fanny holding the two bolts of cotton had already reached the door and disappeared as Marian opened the door to the carriage. Still looking ahead towards the dry house, Marian accepted the hand she noticed in her peripheral vision to accompany her out of the carriage. The hand, realizing on contact, was moist and warm, not gloved as Jebson’s always were. It was Mr. Gabriel.

            “You seemed eager, so I took it upon myself.” He said, smiling even as the rain began to make small puddles on the brim of his hat.

            “Thank you.” Marian said, placing both hands onto her skirts and lifting them high as she strode towards the door. Mr. Kyrle, seeming even more red-faced from his sinuses, followed close by. Once in the door, Marian saw Mr. Fairlie’s manservant, Louis, standing at the bottom of the stairs. Bowing, he addressed the gentlemen removing their overcoats and handing their hats and scarves to the awaiting servants:

            “Good afternoon gentlemen, I have been instructed to inform you that Mr. Fairlie prefers to receive you all at the earliest opportunity and go straight into the discussion you proposed. Mr. Hartright is already prepared.”

            The two lawyers exchanged glances.

            “Another rarity,” Mr. Kyrle said coolly. “An immediate reception from Mr. Fairlie.” He said, taking a moment to look towards Marian. She held her coat out to the nearest servant.

            “You may go, gentlemen, our staff will see to your belongings and show you to your rooms after the meeting. I will join you shortly; I wish to see my sister.”

            “She is in your chambers, m’am.” The female servant said gently. Marian made a small bow to the two lawyers and began her walk towards her chambers. Each step took her further from the noise and clamor of the imminent proceedings, a relief, she felt. When she reached the landing at the middle of the stairway, she noticed drops of water on her hair and face reflecting in the glass. Using her sleeve she wiped away the rain and took another moment to be sure she was dry and free from any detritus and continued down the long passage to her bedroom door.

            The window to her sitting room lay open before her, and sitting there on the pillows despite the rain was Laura. Long and heavy beads of rain curtained the outside of the window. Marian crossed toward her, feeling the cool wind on her face and seeing that the rain had begun to soak into the windowsill and the edges of her pillows.

            “Laura, this air!” Marian said, pulling the unoccupied pillows away from the rain setting her hands onto the first pane. “You mustn’t catch a chill, we want you to be getting better, not ill again!”

            “Oh Marian not too fast, I love watching the storm.” Laura replied, holding her hand out to feel the rain on her fingers. “I used to long to feel rain again.” She whispered, closing her eyes as the drops fell onto her open palm and smiled. Opening them again, she seemed to follow each drop as it made a path down her fingers, or the single bead of rain split as it hit her finger and form a ring in its’ path before settling under her finger again and dropping down onto the grounds beneath Marian’s window. Marian could see the thin blonde hairs on Laura’s arm stand from the breeze that passed. For a moment she couldn’t speak, staring at her sister she lost the thoughts of reprehension as she watched the joy spread across her face. Laura let her other hand enter into the shower, and soon she took her two hands and joined them together. Marian sat down beside her, feeling the rain start to fall on the edge of her shoulder and cause dark dots to scatter across the sleeve of her gown. Laura formed a pool of water in her hands.

            “The windows were always too far away to see. All you could do was hear the pounding on the roof, and the thunder.” Laura paused. A flash brightened the sky and reflected in Laura’s eyes. “But to see it again!” Laura cried.

            Marian’s eyes welled with tears. Not letting Laura see them, and surprised at how easily they came, she swallowed her breath and took hold of Laura’s hand. The flash which had set a glow on her sister’s face than released the roar of the thunder across the grounds.

            What in God’s name had her sister lived through? Marian thought. Seeing no living earth around her, friendless, trapped within a barred chamber, what sounds, what sights and smells had forced themselves into her sister’s memory? Yes, she had tried distracting herself into believing that now that Laura was home, restored to the ones who loved her that the demons of her past would leave, unwelcome as they were from their daily thoughts. It was a violation of all the efforts Marian and Walter had fought to preserve the tranquility of their new life. To hear Laura’s words of longing, of suffering and oppression even in the glow and warmth of smiles, reunited friends and servants, brought out the worst despair in Marian’s nature. To hear a moment’s pain in the recollections of Laura’s thoughts would wrest the trust in her actions from her thoughts and leave her with the one feeling she feared the most; defeat.

            “Dearest,” Marian said, placing her hand on Laura’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t think on such things.”

            “They will not go away, Marian.” Laura said her voice dropping to tones that startled Marian to hear. Marian’s hand flinched on Laura’s shoulder. Unwillingly her intake of breath turned to a sob. Laura’s eyes immediately changed. The warmth and compassion of the Laura she had always loved came back into her view the moment she could feel the tear fall off of her cheek.

            “Oh Marian, I’m sorry, don’t you cry!” Laura cooed, turning away from the open window and embracing Marian. “I did not mean to upset you, you must know that. How easily you cry now.”

            “I am trying my best,” Marian’s words were swallowed with another breath, a preamble to the sobs she wished to avoid at all costs.

            “Yes, oh Marian no one more than anyone has made me so happy to forget than you. I could never be angry with you, but please Marian; you have to face the truth.” Laura’s eyes locked with Marian’s. “No amount of comfort and consolation will ever truly erase those memories from my mind.”

            Marian tightened her arms around Laura. Laura in return wrapped her hands around Marian, and from the cold, wet hand on her back she felt the rain soaked hand move again to her cheek. Laura pulled Marian’s face towards her and laid a kiss on her lips.

            “And I don’t want to forget what my sister endured. I want to remember how strong she was, Marian, how remarkable Anne was to have lived with what she held inside for so long.”

            “Yes,” Marian whispered. “Your sister, Anne.” She continued, taking Laura into her arms and keeping their view outward toward the horizon and stroking Laura’s brown hair now matted from the intruding rain.

            “Did she know? Can she have known we were sisters?” Laura said excitedly, pulling Marian’s hands to her lap, circling Laura’s waist. “How I long to know more of her.”

            “I cannot imagine she did. Perhaps there is some hope of that, Laura, we can certainly make inquiries.” Marian said. At that moment she recalled the lawyers, the meeting with Mr. Fairlie which at that very moment she should be in attendance. But Marian wanted nothing more but to keep the warm body of her sister tight against her chest. She sighed, leaning her face close to Laura’s hair and smelling her fragrance again, the light scent of lavender Fanny had always kept in a basin by Laura’s washtub. She kissed Laura’s brow and loosened her arms. 

            “Laura, I am sorry but I must join your Uncle and the lawyers. I am afraid I have kept them waiting.” Marian seated Laura back onto the pillows and put her sister’s hands to her lips.

            “Very well.” Laura said gently.

            “Stay here in my room; I will not be too long I promise.” Marian rose from her seat and reopened the window pane she had kept closed for Laura’s protection. As she turned towards the door, she saw one of her shawls draped across the back of her divan and moved to take it. Meanwhile Laura, holding Marian still in front of her, turned Marian in her place and laughed. Laura began to rub the spot on Marian’s back where her wet hand had dampened the dress. Marian smiled, and in return wrapped the shawl around Laura’s shoulder and laid a kiss on her head.

            “The storm is starting to fade.” Laura said, looking out the window again. “I will stay here to watch the sun come out again.” Marian saw Laura’s fingers start to twist a loose strand of her hair and smiled, seeing the little tics and habits she had so adored coming back more and more.

            Marian kept her eyes on the window when she reached the door, absorbing the view of Laura sitting in the greenish glow from the rain outside, trying with every thought to find a reason to delay her impending meeting with Mr. Fairlie. Any thought of defeat in Marian’s heart had escaped her. She had comforted _me_ , Marian thought. As Marian opened the door and left her chamber, a hope returned to her knowing that her sister’s strength had remained. An ease settled over Marian in seeing that her own fortitude, however strong or unpredictable, was not the only one to look to for support in the efforts Laura took to restore her broken spirit.


	5. Chapter 5

The light, even as Marian began her walk to Uncle Fairlie’s suite began to change, just as Laura had predicted. When she reached the spiral staircase leading to the foyer outside of his chambers, the sun began to break from the storms restraints and seem to light the steps before her. Marian reached the top of the landing, and on first sight of her entering the circular hallway, the three gentlemen rose from their chairs Louis had prepared for them. Walter she had not seen since breakfast and in spite of her, Marian took a moment to study his expression; there were signs of circles under his eyes that perhaps from the distraction of occupying Laura’s attention went unnoticed to her.

            “Now we are assembled, let us proceed.” Mr. Kyrle said, stuffing his handkerchief inelegantly into his breast pocket. Walter drew back the large sea green silk shades and led the company into Uncle Fairlie’s suite.

            Marian’s eyes were surprised to see that the far window on the right was opened, though not enough for any person of normal respiration to find comfort in. The window was the only inconsistency she could observe. His oddities and possessions still remained neatly organized in their glass cases and purple velvet lined trays. She watched Mr. Gabriel unbutton the two remaining buttons on his coat in preparation to sit down, and observed as his eyes went straight to the most prominent piece in the room; the painting of Madonna and Child by Raphael. The gleam in his eye upon seeing the beautiful piece was refreshing to Marian, so accustomed to the precious trinkets which in light of the person that accompanied them, she seldom enjoyed. The three men stood before the chaise and the two chairs set for the company. Walter took the chair across from Marian, and the two lawyers chose the chaise side by side. As Mr. Kyrle adjusted the chain of his fob hanging out of his vest pocket, Mr. Fairlie pushed the curtains from his chamber out of his path with his cane. Wheeling him in with uncertain haste was Louis, looking more haggardly no doubt from more of his master’s complaints.

            “Good day, gentleman, dear Marian.” Mr. Fairlie said, raising his hand to Louis. “Forgive my unfortunate state; I will hope Mr. Kyrle that you have informed your colleague Mr. Gabriel of my infirmity?”

            “Yes.” Mr. Gabriel replied, in a whisper nearly inaudible, clearly taking Mr. Kyrle’s instruction to speak in a softer tone too much to the extreme. Marian could not restrain the grin that began to form on her face. Seeing the brow on Mr. Fairlie’s forehead raise, Mr. Gabriel cleared his throat.

            “Yes, he did, Mr. Fairlie, I hope I may keep your comfort as my first priority through our acquaintance.” Mr. Gabriel said, finally achieving confidence in his tone and settling his hands on his lap. Hearing no immediate response in Mr. Fairlie for himself, he turned towards Marian. She nodded gently, so slight that it would go unnoticed by the invalid he so wished to accommodate.

            “Thank you. Now than, you have something particular to ask of me I assume?”

            Marian watched the stranger to Mr. Fairlie’s forward manner, Mr. Gabriel, blinked for a moment and unable to gain the right response, turn to his friend to present the case.

            “With the events that occurred regarding the conspiracy against your niece, Laura Fairlie Glyde, Mr. Hartright, Mr. Gabriel, Miss Halcombe and myself have the hope to obtain written proof and testimonials from the persons involved or of witness to any of the wrongs in which Lady Glyde suffered, so that we may have conclusive and solid evidence to confirm the restored life and identity of Lady Glyde.” Mr. Kyrle paused, twitching his nose. “We, meaning Mr. Hartright and myself, will begin to make contacts and inquiries to as many people as we can, starting with (we hope) Mr. Hartright, Miss Halcombe, and of course, with your expressed permission and necessity, yourself.”

            Marian held her breath, preparing to deafen her ears to the lamentations bound to come from Mr. Fairlie on the news of his required involvement.

            “Gentlemen, what is this? Written proof? From a man in my condition? Oh dear, what next? How unjust the strong are upon the weak such as myself!” He groaned. Unable to contain her temper, Marian replied:

            “Uncle, we must have it known that the crime under which we all suffered was the long, elaborate villainy created by Sir Percival and Count Fosco, and all actions which led to their success (however unwillingly we entered into it with no thought of the danger) must be recorded. We solicit your help in the acquisition of your account of Laura’s marriage settlement. As you are her guardian, you are the best to impart that vital information on _how_ Sir Percival acquired Laura’s estate.”

            “Perfectly put, Miss Halcombe.” Mr. Gabriel uttered, adjusting his position on the chaise, appearing to turn slightly in her direction; seemingly astonished to see a woman speak in a manner familiar to the barristers around her.

            “Why bother me? I am not the one who drew it out; I have no hand in it, bother Mr. Gilmore the old man, his state is better to deal with such details as mine.” Mr. Fairlie continued.

            “We have already endeavored to write to Mr. Gilmore but he is still retired on leave with his family. Recall he suffered a stroke less than a year ago shortly after Laura’s marriage.” Walter interjected. “It may be many months before we acquire his testimony.”

            Uncle Fairlie’s eyes looked about him, his hand moving restlessly on the tray in front of him. He took a deep breath and again addressed the lawyers.         

            “When must you have it? I do not want to be bullied any more, no indeed, though it will do me no good.” His voice tapered off. “So embarrassing is all of this. But I will do it, if it will give me peace again.” Mr. Fairlie concluded, putting his hands down on the tray, as if the strong temper would break from its’ fragile shell if he did not make the effort to contain it for the sake of his nerves. Marian looked at the two men, who were both barely able to restrain their expressions of relief from revealing too blatantly.

            “Take as long as you need, Mr. Fairlie. There are many people we must yet contact and it will be months before we will have suitable evidence to publish.” Mr. Kyrle said, admitting defeat to his nasal provocations by pulling out his handkerchief.

            On seeing the flourish of the white handkerchief, Mr. Fairlie extended his right hand to Louis, who on immediate instinct knew enough to give him his bottle of eau de cologne. Marian found amusement in watching Mr. Gabriel react to the strange habits of her sister’s guardian. Mr. Fairlie lifted the bottle in front of him and squeezed the bulb of his cologne bottle and released the mist into the air. The tall bursts of mist momentarily fogged the view of Mr. Fairlie from herself and the men beside her. A small fraction of the breeze remaining from the lingering storm cast the cologne into Marian’s face.

            It was not unusual in her life, to have smelled the cologne her invalided half-Uncle had always smothered upon his company but on smelling it, and tasting the bitter tonic on her tongue, Marian’s body contradicted itself. Her mouth turned dry and her throat became hollow. She felt a churning and in the next instant an impulse within her throat made her breath run short. For a brief moment, her eyes caught hold with Mr. Gabriel’s, and seeing her reflection in his response of apprehension she knew she had paled. Marian began to fan the air surrounding her with a curved and open palm. The motion, though easy and effortless, caused her to break out in sweat. 

            “There is no urgent need, and if you would prefer not to write it yourself, I can offer my services to take your dictation.” Mr. Kyrle said, assuredly.

            “Louis, my manservant Louis, will at last prove useful to me in this endeavor, heavens knows what idleness he embodies daily. Go away now, get my fan-

            “Pardon me, gentlemen I must be excused, forgive me!” Marian interjected.

            Propriety and every clear thought or consideration of any other living person in the room abandoned Marian’s mind. Like a cat retreating in fear from the presence of a stranger, Marian stole away from the men and clamored for the open drapes. Her heartbeat raced, she could hear nothing but the shuffled feet as the men stood quickly, courtesy still maintaining that as the lady departed they rise like saluting a dignitary. Reaching the door to Mr. Fairlie’s, a sensation she had never felt so violently overwhelmed her so much that for a moment her legs weakened, and leaning on the doorframe she tasted acid on her tongue, and sealed her hand over her mouth.

            “Miss Halcombe,” She heard a voice of concern behind her.

            Ignoring anything from her senses other than the taste on her lips, Marian ran from the room, charging her way down the stairs. As she reached the bottom of the stairs the carpet beneath her feet began to slide from her fast pace. Nearly losing her footing Marian strode on, using the momentum from her broken balance to pound against the door to her room and lead her in faster and faster. A blur passed her vision, Laura still sitting quietly on the window seat in her room. She could hear another sound; another voice calling her name, but steadying her stance on the footboard of her bed, Marian lowered her head and pulled her hand away from her mouth. Moments after feeling Laura’s hands on her shoulders, she vomited into the washbowl.

            Marian closed her eyes, her hands beginning to tremble and a whiteness take over her vision. Laura’s hands began to clutch at her hair, attempting it seemed to ease her with whatever cure she knew as one last surge emitted from Marian’s lips.

            Feeling the throbbing in her head subside, and the unease in her stomach begin to settle Marian opened her eyes. Her hands began to steady. She allowed the other senses to take her attentions.

            “Marian, oh my God-

Laura said, putting her hands on her face, waking Marian from her haze at last. “Marian are you alright?” Laura said, beginning to turn Marian in her place.

“I’m fine now,” Marian said, putting her hand against her mouth and moving to sit on her bed.  “It must have been…” She lost her thought when she looked at Laura. Laura had begun to wipe the sickness from her dress with her own sleeves. Marian felt a heaviness on her chest, feeling like a child in her state of soil and shock.

“I just need to rest. Don’t be afraid, Laura, it is over now.” Marian whispered. A thought crossed her mind. “Don’t tell Walter about this, it is passed now, no need for a doctor. No need to take him away from the lawyers.” She said gently, settling her weight on the bed and hearing the clatter of her drawers being opened and shut as Laura searched for linens. As Laura walked over to the bed, Marian looked at herself. The front of her dress was spotted and the entire cuff of her sleeve soaked in the vile contagion which escaped her. Laura took a place beside her and before Marian could lie down on the pillows of her own accord; Laura pulled her to her lap. Marian felt the warmth of a clean bed sheet under her cheek. Laura wrapped her arms around Marian’s head, stroking Marian’s hair as she had done to Laura just minutes ago it seemed.

 

 

            The Count’s eyes vision was tinted momentarily by the hue of the wine as it filled the glass. It met his lips, and filling his mouth until he felt the aroma catch in his nostrils as he tilted the glass down. On the other side of the table he watched as Marian lifted the silver fork, with perfect casualty, and prodded the side of the duck laid out on the table between them; the caramelized skin crackling beneath the pressure of her hand. Watching the short line of steam emit from the broken musculature of the duck’s breast, the Count smiled, basking in the sight that was his equal, in wit and in appetite this particular evening. Sating her palate for meat, Marian let the fork clatter on the edge of her plate as she reached for the serving spoon buried beneath a sauce of truffle oil and pearl onions.

            “You will pardon my indulgence.” She said quickly. “But I will make no apologies when I say in my condition the meal you have arranged is extraordinary. I will remember it fondly seeing as it is the last I should ever wish to share in your company.”

            The Count let a laugh escape his mouth, the tone of her voice deceiving all of the fortitude she had been building as a veneer. The Count had been listening, and intently, for the many hours she had continued in her recollections. In his heart he had suspected, and seeing as how his suspicions had nearly deceived him the day before, took no hesitation in allowing them to surface. The thoughts he was hearing were thoughts and recollections she had not yet confided to the source of her appealing condition; the man she referred to as her husband. Instinctually the Count imagined to himself the life his new Marian Halcombe must be living. The wife of a wealthy barrister, forced to watch her every public step for fear of damaging a political career not worth having in Fosco’s eyes, he thought, since few ever reaped the advantages of it without crossing the line between what is true and what is necessary. He could picture his magnificent Marian like a hawk trapped in a sparrow’s cage; the idea of domestic tranquility never crossing his mind as an attribute desired with Marian Halcombe as a wife. Then again, Fosco thought, the tranquility he had so stereotyped must be non-existent. No man, not even himself he humbled to admit, could have fathomed a way to make a docile housewife out of the woman sitting across from him. Nor would he have wished it. Perhaps the Count was, as he always suspected, the only man who saw Marian for what she could have been; the perfect spy.

            “I always provide for my guests.” The Count said proudly, holding his chest out like a puffed rooster as he shifted his weight. “How would your husband feel? Have I outshined his homely offerings?”

            “My my, envious to the last, I never thought I would ever enjoy the pleasure of seeing you drown in your jealousy like I have been tonight.” Marian said, stridently setting her back against the chair.

            “You cared for me then?” The Count said, the words escaping him as unhesitatingly as the others at first before the last syllable touched the tip of his lips. Instantly he felt his color begin to slip from his face, his hand unwillingly tremble before he regained his confidence and looked Marian in the eyes. Few moments in his life he could admit to wishing to draw back the words from his lips. _Dio you are getting old_ , he thought; ashamed to have dropped his guard. Marian set down the water glass from her lips, matching his eyes and taking a long breath before her exhale turned into words:

            “When you first came to Limmeridge, when I saw you standing among your caged birds and mice and looking more ridiculous than any man I had known, against my will you had found a way into my notice. The humor with which you took yourself, had you not possessed that I would have pitied you. Had you not known how to talk to me as no man, not even Walter, ever could, I could have found the strength to ignore you completely. But you are, and remain, the most intriguing man I have ever known. I have never thought it possible to be fascinated, and disgusted with the behavior of one and the same man. I can look back on nights I would wake to hear Laura crying and every vein in my body throbbed with blood that wanted nothing more than to see you burn in Hell for what you did to my sister. But I have since found that my rage is best left to reserve, and that your retribution however near or far off, will come. Until then, there is nothing more I can be concerned of from you. Even now, looking at you, I have lost all fear. You have no power, and you could never frighten me again. And I know, that the fraction of my heart that in spite of myself, found myself thinking of you, is enough to ensure that you will never again harm me or the people I care for.”

            The Count drew breath. In that one inhalation all of his emotions, felt as they may have been years ago, came back. Following the impulse of his body the Count slowly pushed his chair away from the table, allowing his large mass to lower down to the ground beside the table. Slowly, as his knees began to sting under his weight, he reached over to take Marian’s hand from her lap. Tenderly, he folded the cuff of her sleeve against her wrist and put her hand to his lips; again trying with every fiber of his being to hold back his emotions, the wild surge of fear that flashed across his eyes at the description of his retribution, the flicker of hope that like a white light toward the gates of heaven beckoned him in the glow of Marian’s eyes in the candlelight reflection. For the first time in more years than he could remember, a tear left his eye and landed on the back of Marian’s hand.

            “Mia carisima-

            “Do not ask for my forgiveness Count for you will not get it.” Marian said, pulling her hand out from under his lips and pushing her chair back. “I did not come here to indulge your slumbering guilt.”

            “My love” The Count whispered, overwhelmed and losing his composure.

            “Please, do not say such things now, they will do no good. Where is your fortitude? Come now, in all of the women you have whispered endearments to get your way you think I am no different? Different except I am the one who can fight you.” Marian said. The Count managed to turn himself as he rose, holding his hand against his waistcoat and settling his thoughts again on turning them into words.

            “If I may be allowed to speak” The Count said, choosing his words carefully as he saw Marian rise from her chair. “I spoke out of line. And for having made only one admission to you, I am nearly offended in your lack of empathy, seeing as I have sat here, for more hours than I care to count, listening with all of the care in my heart for the mistaken roads taken in your life.”

            The Count watched Marian’s hand loosen its grip from around the napkin she was clutching.

            “I will no longer than, as you say, speak on the subject. If I may be allowed than, there is something else I had been meaning to ask.”

            Marian placed the napkin back onto the table, settling herself back into her chair and leaning her head on her hands momentarily before looking up to greet his inquiry.

            “You told me Mr. Hartright had been meaning to form an investigation of the people involved with Sir Percival’s crime. Tell me, for on my honor as his friend, I never questioned what it was that happened between him and Anne Catherick. Oh you look at me that way now, but I tell you the truth.” The Count continued, seeing the disbelief show in her face in a smile as enigmatic as the famous Da Vinci hanging in an overstuffed gallery down the street.

            “I could have gained such knowledge from him with a snap of my fingers but I chose not. His past had no bearing on my actions for my future, my gains, as you would say. So I ask now, seeing as your skills in interrogation are as finely tuned as my own, what did you find out about that first offense against Anne Catherick?”

            “That was, among other questions, one of my only goals. Here was my sister, beginning to ask me what her sister was like, and I had no answer aside from what we had known of her in those short moments back in Hampshire. Walter described her vividly in his recollections but from what she says, we still did not have enough to satisfy Laura’s curiosity. It was in those first few weeks of arranging the testimonials that we discovered that there was someone alive, someone willing to help us discover more about Anne Catherick.”

 

           

            Laura had not returned to her mother’s grave since before her incarceration. Marian had made care not to introduce anything which may resurface memories of Laura’s pain and suffering in those first few precious weeks of her return home. Especially now, when the sloping hills of Limmeridge had reached the apex of their beauty in the long summer days drawn out in full by the lingering summer months. When Marian had proposed the picnic, she was reluctant at first to comply with her sister’s wish, to go not to the lands of the estate, but outside to the village and in the very valley where the churchyard lay.

            Marian’s eye set in front of the dirt path before her, holding the basket against her hip locked under her elbow. The leaves covered the path in patches as Laura and Walter walked beneath them. Laura’s bonnet hung carelessly behind her head as she walked forward along the path, holding a long stick loosely in her hands so it followed behind her, making a line on the surface of the sandy ground beneath her feet. Walter kept a steady step behind her, occasionally guiding her steps with his hand on the small of her back. Marian had no feelings left, nothing which might have caused a pang of remorse cross her heart when watching her sister and her husband. Yes, she had witnessed not a week early, the small ceremony at Limmeridge church which forever united her sister with the man she loved. It had gone without bar, without any hint of resistance. Walter had appeared nervous, which she had justified to her sister as being anxious at the prospect of his new life. Not the anxiousness which came from Marian’s still unspoken condition.

            “It all seems like it used to be!” Laura exclaimed. She turned from the path towards Marian and smiled. There had been a vast improvement, Marian witnessed, since the wedding. The color had returned to her face, she was not as haunted by the dreams she carried, not as somber when left alone with her thoughts. No one watching them walk together down the path at that moment would ever have known what they had endured by seeing the simple abandonment of their minds as they watched the path open up before them, the church standing just ahead before the path turned towards the village.

            Perhaps that was why Laura wanted to come here, the place no longer held the memories Marian had. Now the grave no longer bore the words ‘Lady Laura Glyde, wife of Sir Percival Glyde. Bart’, and set the grief flooding into Marian’s thoughts again, the depth of depression she hoped never to feel again. Walking ever closer to the churchyard with every step, she had entertained the thought, that she would rather die herself than ever feel the pain of losing Laura again.

            “Where do you want to sit?” Marian asked, reaching the stone gate just as Laura had walked forward into the yard. The graveyard lay to their left, just adjacent to the vestry of the church and spotted at points with tall elm trees and a lone birch near to the bell tower. The breeze lifted the edge of the blanket Laura had slung over her elbow. Walter looked back towards Marian, waiting for the instructions from Laura as her eyes gazed over the grounds. Without saying a word, Laura walked towards Marian, taking the basket from her arm and letting it sit on the ground. She took one of Marian’s hands.

            “Can we sit near Anne?” She whispered. “I know you would think it morose of me, but I want to. I want her to share in this beautiful day.” Laura said, dropping her hand and turning towards the gravestone which held not only the monument of her lost sister, but their mother and Laura’s father. It seemed even in death Laura had no reservation about wanting to spread her newfound happiness to all around her, even if only in thought and spirit. Walter followed Laura to the spot and stood across from her as she began to lay the blanket down on the clearing next to the monument. The blanket lifted in the air like a loose sail catching the wind and landed with a large crease across the middle as it sloped downwards with the lay of the hill.

            “You gave me no chance to intervene!” Marian said, with good humor to distract herself from her thoughts. “But I will not object to it.” She said, sitting down beside the basket and pulling the shawl down from her shoulders. When she rested her weight on the ground she closed her eyes, surprised how weary she was only moments after bringing herself to sit. Walter opened the basket and began to assemble the plates and silverware about them, handing Laura an apple as she remained standing watching the landscape. The parish clerk’s wife stepped out from her house with a basket of linens and as the wind began to cease, hang each one on the line which was tied from one tree to another across her land. Just as Marian glanced herself, two chipmunks ran out from the gaps within the stone wall in a frenzied chase.

             “Have any of the lawyers been able to find out more about her?” Laura said, standing next to the gravestone and placing her hand across the inscription. Her voice was no longer fragile, not hesitant in tone. Laura’s words reached Marian as she sit;

            “We are trying to reach Mrs. Catherick but so far no reply. Her correspondence with me has never been very enlightening and I imagine even more now she would not be eager to comply with our requests.”

            Laura turned towards Marian, keeping her hands on the monument, looking in a flash so like Anne.

            “I know in your heart that is the truth you want most.” Marian said gently. As she finished her words, Walter came up to Laura, placing his hand on her shoulder and gesturing to the now assembled luncheon. Laura sat down on the blanket laid before her and followed Marian’s example by removing her shawl.

            “I remember, when they took me to her room for the first time-

            “Laura, don’t-

            “I want to tell you these things, Marian.” Laura interrupted. “They don’t distress me anymore.” Laura paused, her eyes gazing into Marian’s with confidence. “When I saw her room, I remember seeing names in the stone, in the very walls as though they were carved with something. It took me a moment to discern what they read, but it was a name. I have wanted to tell you, it said the name Caroline.”

            Marian and Walter looked eagerly on Laura, every new memory or revelation leading into more that they could document in the search for answers.

            “It was only written three or four times, the rest were scratches, and even in one place there were places where it looked like she tried to write Fairlie. She must have been writing about me. Lord knows how long she must have labored with the truth bearing down on her mind waiting for the day she might reveal it.”

            “Caroline,” Marian whispered. “Who could that have been?” She turned towards Walter.

            “I am not sure.” He replied, setting a plate in front of Laura before moving to serve Marian. “We have discovered so much already, surely there must be someone or something which could help us.” He said resolutely, finishing the service for the three of them and then opening the case for his sketchpads to begin his work. Laura smiled and started at her lunch with delicate motions. Marian looked towards Walter’s sketchbooks as he began to pull out his papers. The soft breeze started up again and began to lift the corners of the pages of his open book as it sat between her and Walter.

            “There were times too, when I was so confused, I realized just how she was able to write it, she used the tip of her hat pin. I had used mine, so much that it could barely break the straw of my bonnet when the nurse used to bring me outside. I can see how they must have believed everything Percival and Fosco must have told them, with my name inscribed on the walls and now me writing Lady Glyde. I even tried to write yours, Marian, just to help me remember but I couldn’t, my hand trembled too much.” Laura said gently. Marian reached across the blanket to her sister and placed her hand on her lap. “I am sorry,” Laura continued, “I have to say these things. I want you to know everything as I remember it.”

            Walter moved his position to be closer to Laura. She turned around behind her to look at the monument, the brightness of the day around her, and back towards Marian’s face.

            “I am sorry to upset you Marian, how pale you look.” She said, at once Marian withdrew her glance and focused on the plate on her lap. Walter’s eyes followed her, Marian feeling both eyes prying into her thoughts which at that moment she could not let up anything which could reveal her own secret.

            “I am fine; the walk wearied me a little is all.” Marian said quickly. She looked towards Walter, who even as calm as he appeared seemed unnerved by Laura’s inquisition. This could not last much longer, Marian thought to herself. She had already seen her demeanor begin to alter, the scents of the flowers surrounding the grounds catch in her senses as though gripped in a vice, even the weariness which she well remembered when watching her own mother carrying Laura in her early months.

            “I have been so selfish, Marian.” Laura said firmly, rising to her knees and leaving her position beside Walter. “You both have done so much for me, I don’t want to be treated like a child any longer, please tell me at once, if there is ever anything I can do to help you both.” Laura said, strength in her tone rising as she sat between them.

            “Marian has not been well.” Walter interjected. Marian’s eyes, like darts, shot towards his face.

            “What he means is I have been working with Mr. Gabriel these last few days so much with assembling our case that I have not been able to rest much. I have not been taking best care of myself I suppose, but it is of no great concern.” Marian continued, ceasing the conversation from her end by filling her mouth with several grapes which she had broken off the vine with her fingers to calm her nervous hands while the subject of her health passed between them. Walter sat back, withdrawing as it were from the subject remembering Marian’s threat to his interference.

            “Well than, now that he is back in London for the time being we can make sure you have repose for yourself. Mr. Gabriel has not been pressing you for too much has he?”

            “Not at all, on the contrary we have spent most of the time talking of other matters. He was sincere in his hope that we would become friends before venturing into reciting and taking note of my entries. We were distracted for nearly three quarters of an hour with gossip which I could tell he never has opportunity to utter to his clerks. He has been very thorough in finding as many people’s addresses as possible. He is hoping to return from London within the month with more testimonies, but as he says, it is the matter of tracing the contacts that is the most limiting. For some it will be a matter of patience as we wait for the letters to arrive.” Marian said. “But we should not despair. There may yet be someone who would be able to tell us more.”     

            “Yes,” Laura paused, again turning in her place to look behind her towards the headstone. “All is not yet told.”

            “Did Laura tell you she intends to name our first daughter after Anne?” Walter said, attempting to enliven the discussion only than checking his thoughts.

            “Yes!” Laura said happily, taking both of Marian’s hands. “I know it seems silly to have already talked of such things we have only been married so long.”

 Marian smiled in reply, looking towards the still open sketchbook which had begun to flip its pages independently with the help of the summer breeze. She could hear Laura’s continued discussion in her ears but as she observed the flashing images of unfinished sketches, her breath caught in her throat. The page lay opened, as if by more than coincidence, on a study of the bridge before Parliament. The memories flashed back into her conscious thoughts. Quickly as though to save the pages from the intrusive nature, Marian pushed forward from her place and took hold of the sketchbook into her hands, hearing Laura’s break in conversation to acknowledge the strange gesture.

            “I was afraid his pages would start to tear.” Marian said quickly, holding the book closed against her lap and matching eyes with Walter. He had kept his eyes fixed on Laura, not appearing to have noticed the page which made Marian’s hands flinch to take possession of his book.

            “Well, Walter, I hope my sister’s request doesn’t defeat your hopes of enjoying her exclusively now that you are both well and truly married.” Marian said, adjusting the tone of her voice with an inflection as to make her statement a joke. “Though it would be a joy, I suppose, to have children at Limmeridge again.” She said, dropping the tone she had contrived and hearing her own thoughts escape into the conversation. Walter’s eyes had avoided hers as he listened. Laura’s eyes which had previously been looking down into her plate, glanced up towards Walter, Marian observed. He remained silent, and knowingly it seemed, avoided Laura’s glance. Without another pause, Marian turned away, afraid the precipice she had placed Walter on even in jest proved unwelcome to his composition. Laura, who had in the moment before, took a linen from the basket and wiped her mouth before motioning to stand. She leaned over towards the folded portfolio of Walter’s sketching materials and took out a clean drawing pad for herself. Holding it tight against her breast she turned towards Marian.

            “I will be by the vestry entrance, when we walked in I thought the view of the hillside was beautiful from this perspective and I have no sketches of you. Do you mind sitting for me?” Laura said, a girlish delight returning to her voice that was impossible for Marian to refuse.

            “I am afraid I am not the most patient of subjects, but for you, anything.” Marian said, resignedly as she stretched her legs and rearranged her skirts on the blanket beneath her. With one arm she pulled the shawl down from around her shoulders and leaned back. Just then she heard Laura make a sound of delight, at an idea which had formed in her mind. She closed the basket which lay between Marian and Walter and pushed it behind Marian’s back to support her, taking off her own shawl and settling it behind Marian’s neck.

            “There!” Laura said resolutely, smiling towards Walter at her newfound arrangement. Before setting into her position, Marian turned around to watch where Laura’s point of view was to be held. She walked brightly up the slope of the graveyard and stationed herself before the vestry gate, looking out over the sprawling landscape beyond the wall and the sloping hills. From her view, were all three subjects she wanted; Walter sitting casually, at an angle perpendicular to the view as to see his unfolded leg make a sharp juxtaposition from the rounded hills, and Marian’s relaxed form almost mold to the hillside itself, and there to their right, the tall monument over the Fairlie’s graves.

            Marian looked out toward the horizon, conscious now of the faint whispering of Laura’s pencil against the paper some yards behind her and the crackling of an apple breaking between Walter’s teeth. She turned towards him, seeing his own eyes looking back on Laura, his pupil, standing on her own. So much more to him now, she realized, and the renewal of their love glistening from his gaze, making him more attractive than she had ever dared to observe. Failing in her own resolve, the love which began to quicken her senses again subsided to an admiration, an unexpected tenderness she was unaccustomed to feeling for any man. She had not known many, it was true, she had never taken one in so unguardedly into her own confidence as she had with Walter the first months of his sentence, nor had she ever been so confounded. Glyde was transparent, his want of any human feeling visible the moment he dropped his charade on their arrival at Blackwater. The Count, false in every sense of the word though dripping with sentiments disgusting for her to remember without wanting to taste blood, was even more translatable. But Walter, a man with a heart so sensitive, lacerated by past woes and mending slowly but with a danger seeming hidden beneath his gentle face. She had seen it in his eyes, and should have known, the blind distrust and childlike jealousy which made him question the character of her sister’s betrothed and shatter her own judgments of every man around her from that moment. This man, who gazing so lovingly on his wife seeming unencumbered by any semblance of pain, was also the same who Marian had observed drowning under the weight of his own sorrow; wasting as only an artist would, she thought secretly. Perhaps it was that, Marian saw, which matched Laura so beautifully with him; the darkness of his temper when burdened with anger or grief suited Marian’s pessimism, and Laura’s unbridled joy and childlike impulses which had protected and betrayed her too often were safe in his hands. It is truly better, Marian thought, better for him to have revived his spirits and restored his faith in life with Laura as his wife. Realizing how long it had been since Marian had felt the kind of joy she had observed in Walter’s face, she closed her eyes.

Whether conscious or not of her actions, she broke her promise to remain still for Laura and settled her hand on her waist, careless of either set of eyes on her as she unhinged the thoughts from captivity. She remembered Laura as a baby, the wide beautiful blue eyes staring up into her face, gazing in awe. Marian remembered the days spent alone, of watching Laura beginning to crawl across the floors of her bedroom and in exhaustion reach Marian’s small lap and look up, the tears of a weary toddler softening her resolve to educate her. The tone of her own voice when speaking to her, ridiculous on looking back, but so bright and unlike Marian’s sounds as to bring a wide smile upon Laura’s face.

Marian remembered her mother, the tall dark woman with the delicate hands and the heart of an angel. It had been so long, and so flashes of her mother came back. Of long hours sitting beside her mother while she checked over piles of papers, one after the other, each one she read more intently than the last before marking with a letter on the upper left margin. It was a time before she knew what they were, and why her mother asked for her to sit quietly every time she began to read them. Marian could see her mother clearly now, the dark eyes which as time went on began to resemble her own more and more, catching light from the single dim candle on the corner of her desk. She remembered the motions of her mother’s eyes across the page, her hand gently turn over each page and every so often, roll back the cuffs of her gowns from hitting the pencil marked sheets. As a duty, Marian remembered, when she was sitting quietly she always kept an eye on the wax that fell from the edge of the candle to the desktop, resolved not to allow a single drop to land on the children’s papers. Often she would use her own fingertip, pressing her finger into the wax puddles and feeling the momentary burn fade away to leave the wax cold on her hand and covering her skin as though it were a second skin she would peel back; idling away the hours until at last she could steal her mother’s attention again.

                That was when Mrs. Amelia Halcombe was her name and no one else but Marian had laid a claim to her, and when even on the school holidays, her mother would have her best black blouses and skirts pressed and continue her daily memorial to her fallen father. The first day she let Marian pick out one of her old dresses to wear, a color dress, Marian leapt from her feet to the dusty old trunk behind the stairwell and dragged it out into the hallway, the scraping of the metal edging against the wood floor resounding through the house and causing an uproar of objections from mother and the neighbor. Marian had always thought her mother to be attractive, but seeing the fresh blue and green calico set against her dark hair and bring a lightness to her face had made Marian more proud than ever before. It was the first time she herself could see what it meant to be feminine- Marian herself had always preferred the darker toned skirts and bloomers and never wanted to give them up in favor for more lady like modes of fashion. It was practical, after all, to let the girl who would rather pass an afternoon chasing and wrestling the neighbor’s spaniels wear bloomers than lacey petticoats.

                Marian searched her mind countless times, but proved to only have a dim memory of her own father. He was so young, after all, and the accident was so sudden. All she could recall of him was of a strongly built man, with large hands which were calloused and warm, and a long gait as he stepped across the kitchen and crossed the room to her blanket where she had been playing. She could hear faint murmurs of a deep voice, of her own mother’s laugher at his stories, and of the oven gate shutting with a clack as a handful of coals set the heat churning into the house. It seemed as if it was so short a time after that when she heard her mother’s voice call from the foyer, and of the neighbor’s footsteps come in from outside to meet the sounds in the doorway. As she heard the sounds, Marian had lost her balance on her small legs and fell, catching herself on her hands and crying.

                Marian opened her eyes letting them again stare out into the clouds above her head. She didn’t dare move. She didn’t want anything to take her out of the place where she was. For the first time in years, Marian realized, she was remembering what life had been like  _before_  Laura. While it was not unhappy by any means, there was a sense that there was something to be desired. She had been resourceful in keeping herself occupied whether it was with books, walks through the local parks when they had been living in various boroughs outside of London, or the privacy of her diary. It wasn’t until her mother had accepted an interview with the parish and school board of Limmeridge village in Cumberland that she had ever truly seen the country. How was she to know that the train ride she had taken with her mother that April morning would have altered the course of her future forever? 

It had been a longer ride than the others, the view out the windows of wide open fields, sloping hills and of long diminutive walls made of piled rocks cutting across the greens took time to take hold of Marian’s attention from her book. Suddenly realizing how very far she was from the populous streets and the bustle of the neighboring houses, Marian was not favorable towards this prospective position.

                Looking around the silent schoolyard Marian’s eyes followed the long path of a bee that had flown past her face. Her mother had been brought inside, meeting in the schoolroom with the board members no doubt. The schoolyard was quiet in the morning sunshine. Marian had been told to sit on the bench and not to budge until her mother emerged. While her feet were dangling in rhythm to a song in her head, a shadow cast over them.

                 _What are you doing out here, child, or have you been punished for mischief?_  A tall blonde haired man said. He was dressed finer and fancier than any man Marian had ever laid her eyes on. His tailcoat was of spotless black wool, and his waistcoat a shade of violet she had only ever seen on school girl ribbons. Yet in spite of his appearance his eyes were of a dark blue and his stature assured and confident as with one hand he took hold of Marian firmly by the chin.

                 _Have you been a naughty child?_  He said reprovingly. Marian swiped his hand away staring him full in the face. brimming over with indignation like a steaming kettle on a stovetop.  She heard the schoolhouse door open to her right, and stepping out were her mother and another gentleman.

_Ah here we are Mrs. Halcombe, this is Sir. Phillip Fairlie, what splendid timing. Here is the headmistress for the new school you had been calling for, just finished her final call and we find her propositions the most encouraging of any we have yet heard._

                Back in her mother’s arms, which ended in moistened palms which she knew her mother only suffered from when nervous, Marian was turned out to look on the building she had been sitting in front of that last two quarters of an hour.

                _Look dearest; it may not seem much now, but in a few weeks, these empty rooms will be full of children!_ She leaned into Marian’s ear and whispered hurriedly beneath her breath _.  A school to call my own, at last!_

 

Swelling visions of the past occupied Marian’s mind while staring up into the clouds, a flutter of anticipation as she slowly motioned her hand across her waist, speaking as it were to the child growing within her of the people and places she has known and what the child was yet to see. Marian was finding herself on the precipice of a joy she had only just resigned to never feeling again. It was a new life, after all, a beginning, a new page. She was mindless of the world around her, forgetting the man sitting across from her, the sister sketching behind her, and thought exclusively of the child inside her. It is beginning; she could hear her own thoughts whisper. No, it may not last, this temporary excitement, but it was happening. For the first time since the truth was achieved in her mind, Marian was contented, resigned to the anticipation of feeling her body change beneath her hands, and welcoming of the stare of new eyes upon her face when the winter closed in.

She opened her eyes and turned towards Walter who had, it seemed in the moments before, been looking at her. His eyes dimmed from the last glance she saw, and fixed almost mesmerized at the hand laying across Marian’s abdomen. Without moving from her position she matched his eyes. _Don’t_ , she whispered gently.

 “What do you think of it?” Laura said aloud, crossing the monuments as she strode down the hill towards the picnic. Marian cleared her thoughts and refocused her attentions to the sound of Laura’s voice. She looked over her left shoulder and righted herself as Laura sat beside her. Walter shook out his hands. Laura pushed her hair back when a breeze cast it in front of her face, blocking the sketchbook from view. The sketch, drawn with such free yet precise marks from Laura’s pencil looked as effortless a motion as a branch making a line across the sky during the gusts around them. Marian was more than pleased her sister had not undertaken to sketch her full face, only a profile. Each time Laura protested to sketch her sister’s expression Marian refuted, insisting paper and pencil should be saved for worthier, more awe inspiring natural phenomena be it from flower or face.

“Beautiful, a great improvement,” Walter said with a smile, pulling the sketchbook closer to his eyes. “You are beginning to form your own technique; soon without even having to look at your signature I will tell it is your work.”

“Oh stop, Walter, you and Marian will be the only ones to see them!” Laura said, settling down onto the blanket between them. “I have no ambitions to showcase them.”

            The conversation continued but Marian could not focus her attentions on them; she had been so absorbed in her own thoughts and the unidentified feelings in her senses she could only smile in reply to their repartee. Turning away from them she turned towards the horizon and pushed the basket away from her back. As the breeze came across the hill she stood up and faced the rushing air, staring over the landscape. It was an unfamiliar feeling but one she felt obliged to follow; at that moment Marian longed to be alone with her own thoughts. She wanted nothing more than to leave the churchyard and make her way back to the house unaccompanied; walking along the well-worn paths between the village and the farm stands. Without a second thought she turned back towards them;

            “I would like to walk back to the house, there is something I forgot to see to before we left and I feel it won’t leave my mind until it is settled,” Marian lied jovially. “Don’t let my early departure hamper your afternoon; after all you hardly have had time to yourselves since you married.”

            “Oh don’t be silly, Marian” Laura said, standing up to meet her in the path. “You could never be a burden to us.” She took both of Marian’s hands. “We are a family together now after all, after all we have been through never feel as though you are excluded.” Laura said, her eyes looking directly into Marian’s. The genuine affection Laura had possessed since her childhood seemed to put a bright halo over everyone in her life; making all of their faults seem oblivious to her view. Marian could hardly tell for herself if the serenity Laura had made for herself was true to life or acting as a veil over her face. Marian wanted nothing more at that moment than to shield her sister from everything she had been thinking; the underlying reason behind any memory Marian had recovered from her own childhood and her mother. Yet at the same time, no other moment did Marian feel so tempted to reveal the truth, and exclaim in a carefree joyous voice to her sister that there would be a child at Limmeridge once again.

              “I know, of course we are a family.” Marian said gently, dropping Laura’s hand and picking up her shawl and bonnet from the blanket. “Don’t concern yourself, I will meet you both back at the house.” Marian said, draping the shawl across her shoulders and leaning in to kiss Laura’s cheek. She turned back towards Walter who had remained seated on the blanket, his knees pulled up towards his chest and his eyes cast down into his lap. Marian could take no mind to his thoughts, and seeking refuge from his gaze she walked away from the monument, the sun reappearing from behind the clouds as she reached the gate to the churchyard.

             


End file.
